High School Escapades
by UNTERMENSCHEN
Summary: The 'kids' are now seventeen, and are attending South Park High School! CHAPTER SIX: South Park High School is closed for the day, and the kids have a little time off. Please read and review!
1. A Little Introduction

Opening A/N  
  
This is my FIRST South Park fan fiction, so take that into consideration before you whip out the 'red pen', so to speak. Before I begin, I'd like to say something…  
  
I am not an orthodox writer - I live by the words, 'creativity' and 'individualism'. Though I don't own South Park (or any of the characters), this is my fan fiction and I will write it how I want. So, whilst I will try to keep South Park characters true-to-form for the sake of their personalities, I will not shackle myself to the TV show and follow the path of the fan fiction conformist.  
  
That said, you can get on with reading the story. This is the first chapter; so I'll use it to introduce the main characters, rather than to establish, and elaborate on, a plotline.  
  
Oh, and don't forget to review…  
  
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As the sun rose slowly over the jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains, Colorado; the forests sparkled with the freshly settled morning dew, as if sprinkled with diamond dust. The small town of South Park, nestled amongst those very trees, began to come to life. The sun, having cast small shadows in the hamlet's every nook and cranny, continued it's journey skywards. A nearby rooster, awakened, cried out.  
  
Sunrise. A routine and ordinary spectacle that, somehow, always managed to induce an amorous feeling. Many couples, for whatever reason, enjoyed to watch the sunrise together. One such couple was Stan Marsh and Wendy Testaburger who, for the first time ever, shared the moment - an overblown romantic gesture of Stan's own conjuration.  
  
Stan was a pretty ordinary kid. He had an average build; with short, jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing a brown jacket (with red trimmings), a pair of red gloves and blue jeans. During his time in South Park Elementary School, Stan was the captain of the South Park Cows baseball and football teams. Since then, he'd grown out of sport, and so quit the teams. He lived with his parents, Randy and Sharon, and his violent sister, Shelly. Stan's grandfather used to live with them, but died several months ago. After his death, only Wendy had been there for Stan; to comfort and console him when he was down in the dumps.  
  
Wendy was Stan's girlfriend. She was a very attractive girl; with long, straight, jet-black hair and deep, green eyes. She was wearing a purple beret, pink coat (with dark purple trimmings), a pair of fuzzy, dark purple gloves and yellow trousers. Wendy was amongst the brightest kids in South Park, only realistically rivalled by a small few. Because of her academic success, and her responsible personality, she had held many important positions in South Park High. Wendy lived with her mother.  
  
Stan and Wendy had a very special relationship. Even after so long together, the pair were still frantically in love; and found it incredibly difficult to keep their hands off one another. They shared just about everything, and spent most of their time together. Even when they were apart, they were always on each other's mind. Stan's entire world revolved around Wendy, as her world did around Stan. Some people call it 'true love'.  
  
The two were sitting atop a shallow hill, barely overlooking South Park; surrounded by blossoming trees and fallen petals, which had settled on the grass like small, pink snowdrops. The sun, and the peaks over which it rose, were clearly visible in the distance. It was a picturesque scene, and it drew a sweet smile from Wendy. She sighed.  
  
"Wow… it's so beautiful…" She spoke softly; her velvety voice, like a harmonious melody, grabbed Stan's attention and roused a besotted smile.  
  
"Yeah…" Stan agreed, though he hadn't really been paying much attention to the sunrise. For quite some time now, he'd been gazing at Wendy.  
  
At that very moment, a gentle summer breeze floated by and ruffled Wendy's hair playfully. She smiled, and adjusted her hair and beret. Watching her, Stan smiled from ear-to-ear and, from the outside, his heart appeared to melt. Wendy noticed this, and blushed lightly.  
  
"Stan!" She exclaimed, still blushing. "You're supposed to be watching the sunrise, remember?"  
  
"Huh?" Stan shook his head furiously, as if to prise his mind from it's blissful state. "I'm sorry about that." Wendy smiled, and then Stan's own smile returned. "It's really weird…" He said, gazing at the sun. Wendy looked at him, then at the sun; a little bemused.  
  
"What is?" She asked. Stan shook his head.  
  
"We are. I mean, our final year in High School begins today. This'll be our ninth year together." Wendy smiled, as the sweet song of the lark drifted down from the blossoming heavens hanging above them.  
  
"Yeah, that's right. We've been through a lot together, haven't we?" She asked, though it was more of a prompt for conversation, or something more, than an actual question. Stan nodded.  
  
"Yeah. You get people saying, 'childhood relationships never last - they just falter after a little while'. But we've been together for nine years, and we seem to be doing fine, don't we?" Stan asked, looking at Wendy. She leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek. The kiss was short, sweet and, like an entrée, it wet their appetites… suddenly, it wasn't really enough.  
  
Stan and Wendy, staring into each other's eyes, moved together and locked lips. They kissed passionately, embracing each other; their bodies gripped by an electrifying sensation - the same the sensation the two felt every time they made-out. It felt great, and it alone was reason enough for them to kiss as often as they did.  
  
After what seemed like forever, Stan and Wendy pulled away, just barely satisfied. Stan smiled widely, gazing dreamily into Wendy's deep emerald eyes - they sparkled like a star-spangled summer night's sky.  
  
"Yep - we're doing just fine," Wendy said, grinning. This was obviously an understatement - the two were, and had always been, perfect together. Stan smiled widely, and lay back; gazing up at the flowering trees overhead. The sun's rays shone mildly through the cocktail of colourful leaves and petals, bathing the pair in a warm light. After a few seconds, Stan sat back up. The occasion, magical, gently drew the words from him…  
  
"I love you, Wendy," Stan cooed softly; almost mechanically, but certainly whole-heartedly. Wendy smiled, and rested her head on Stan's shoulder. Stan put his arm around her, and began playing with her long, silky hair absentmindedly. It shimmered under the growing light of the sun, which was slowly soaring skywards.  
  
"I love you, too, Stan." Wendy replied; her voice was as pleasant as the kiss that they'd shared only moments earlier, and as wonderful as the tender vibes in the crisp mountain air. The closing moments of the sunrise were upon the young couple, and another day in South Park loomed on the burning bronze horizon…  
  
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Elsewhere in South Park; a boy, around Stan's age, was lying in bed. He had a very similar build to Stan, though he seemed a little taller. A mop of deep, auburn hair rested on his head, almost covering his bottle green eyes. He was Kyle Brovlofski - Stan's best friend, and one quarter of South Park's Jewish community (the other three quarters being his parents and younger brother).  
  
Kyle's bedroom was just like that of any other boy his age. It was dimly lit, as dark curtains were blocking out the sunlight like a thick fog. Unclean clothes, old magazines, school books and general rubbish littered the room, making it appear like a miniature city dump. A small alarm clock sat on Kyle's bedroom table; it read '7:44 AM'…  
  
Suddenly, the clock began to ring, now reading '7:45 AM'. Kyle grunted, his arm flaying out and knocking the clock from the table. As it hit the floor with a crash, a battery popped out of the back, and the ringing ceased. With that, Kyle bolted upright.  
  
"Shit!" He exclaimed, his widened, heavy eyes focussing on a small calendar, hanging up on the wall at the foot of his bed. Kyle shot out of his bed, and darted to the calendar to take a closer look. His tired eyes scanned it and, yes, it was the first day of the new school term. Kyle groaned, and slouched onto the floor. "Son of a bitch."  
  
The transition between the lengthy holidays and the even-lengthier school term was always difficult - especially when you were attending South Park High. It was a pretty fucked-up school; the teachers were crazy, the principal was crazier and, well, it…   
  
"Really sucks," Kyle groaned aloud; lifting his head for a moment or two, as if to call out to the whole of the town. Just then, Kyle heard footsteps as someone approached his room.  
  
"Kyle," a voice cried, "it's nearly time for school! Get up and get ready!" It was Kyle's mother, Sheila. Kyle sighed.  
  
"Okay, ma!" He called back, half-heartedly. As he heard his mom descending the stairs, Kyle hauled himself to his feet, and trudged across his room to his wardrobe. Yawning, he slid the door open and gazed wearily inside. With very little thought, he fished out his usual attire - an orange jacket (with light green trimmings) and a pair of dark green trousers. Kyle leaned further into the wardrobe, and rummaged through his clothes to find, and grab, a white towel. Slinging his clothes and towel over his shoulder, Kyle slid the wardrobe door shut. He walked slowly across the room, and reached for the doorknob of his bedroom door.  
  
Kyle shielded his eyes, which were accustomed to the dim light of his bedroom, as he stepped out into the upstairs hallway. It was well-lit, and the sun shone brightly through the window. Kyle groaned, closing his bedroom door behind him. He trundled, still half-asleep, across the sea green hallway towards the bathroom, which was virtually adjacent to his own room. As he reached for the knob and turned it, Kyle lost his balance and stumbled inside. Disorientated, he turned and closed the bathroom door, locking it. He hung his clothes up on a nearby peg, and leaned over to switch the shower on. He undressed quickly, and stepped into the shower. Kyle sighed, allowing the warm water to cleanse his body and his mind; clearing his head of any thoughts of High School… for the moment, at least.  
  
After showering, Kyle dressed and headed downstairs; feeling a little better. A stream of black smoke drifted out of the kitchen like charcoal fog, and Kyle could hear Sheila shouting frantically. The usual chaos and disorder. He chuckled to himself and pushed the kitchen door ajar, walking inside. His mother was rushing about, trying to extinguish a burning bagel. She was quite short and chunky, with a bun of auburn hair and green eyes. She was wearing a white shirt under a dark blue jacket, and a dark red skirt.  
  
"Good morning, ma," Kyle said, smiling. His mother took a quick look at him and smiled back, still trying to distinguish the bagel.  
  
"Hello, bubby," she said, quickly and unenthusiastically. Kyle sat down at the table, opposite his father. Gerald was quite a tall man, with brown (but greying) hair and a matching full beard. He was wearing a dark blue shirt under a pale green jacket, a pair of dark green trousers and a pink skullcap. Gerald was a lawyer and, though he wasn't particularly good, he was probably the only one in South Park; so he got a lot of business. He was reading the 'South Park Times', paying very little attention to Sheila and her attempts to stop the house going up in flames.  
  
"So," Kyle began, "what's for breakfast?" Sheila sighed and looked up at him, as she finally doused the burning bread.  
  
"I was baking bagels," she began, suddenly looking angry. "But SOMEONE didn't keep an eye on them!" She glared at Gerald, who looked up and shrugged dismissively. "So you'll have to make do with cereal." Kyle groaned, stood up and trudged across the kitchen to the cupboard. Opening it, he saw that it was empty. He groaned again.  
  
"Ma," he moaned, "Ike's eaten all of the cereal again." Just then, Ike came into the room. He was Kyle's younger brother, but he was adopted and originally from Canada. He was short for his age, with a small mat of black hair and brown eyes. He was wearing his pyjamas; which were sky blue.  
  
"I did not!" Ike protested angrily, though seemingly only half-awake. Kyle sighed.  
  
"Okay, okay! I don't care who's eaten the cereal," he said, avoiding an unnecessary argument with his brother. He looked up at the clock, and gasped. It read '8:30 AM' - the school bus would arrive in twenty minutes. "I've gotta go to school," Kyle said. He quickly put on his light green hat (with dark green trimmings), picked up his light green gloves and gave Sheila a quick kiss. "See you later!" Kyle called, hurrying out of the house.  
  
Kyle stepped out into the street, and the weather hit him instantly - as if he'd ran into a frozen wall of ice. It was snowing heavily, and the roads and sidewalks were hidden beneath a thick white blanket. A frosty wind roared past Kyle, almost blowing his hat from his head. He shuddered, slipping on his gloves, and started off down the street; the snow crunching beneath his heavy hiking boots.  
  
The bus-stop wasn't too far away; ten minutes, or so. Kyle, Stan, Cartman and Kenny had met there everyday since they were eight. And everyday, they'd take the bus to school together. Some things never changed, and this practice was one of them. Hell, even the driver, Ms Crabtree, had yet to call it a day!  
  
Kyle continued on down the street, turning swiftly at the corner to the left. Ahead of him was a long lane, bordered on either side by clusters of snow-laden ferns. Kyle took a bite of the bagel that he'd taken earlier, then spat it out disgustedly. He threw the entire thing onto the ground and, within moments, the cinder-like bread had been buried under the snow. Kyle grumbled, and marched on. After a short while, he came to the end of the road. Turning to the left, Kyle could see the bus-stop. As expected, a few of his friends were there. He hurried to meet them.  
  
"Hey, guys," Kyle called, eventually catching his friends.  
  
"Hey, Jew." Cartman said, grinning. Kyle shot him an angry glance. Cartman was quite short, and bordering on obese. He had smartly-combed brown hair, and blue eyes. He was wearing the usual; a light blue hat (with yellow trimmings), red coat, brown trousers and yellow gloves. He was a spoilt brat - plain and simple. From a young age, he grew to believe that he could have whatever he wanted… so long as he was willing to whine for it. He lived with his mother, Liane. Liane was a hermaphrodite, and was actually his genetic father. His real mother was unknown.  
  
"Hey, Kyle." Kenny said, casually, lessening the tension between Kyle and Cartman. Kenny was of average height and weight; with disorganised blonde hair and blue eyes. He was wearing an orange parker (minus the hood, with brown trimmings), orange trousers and brown gloves. Kenny was a poor kid, living in a semi-shack with a dysfunctional and violent family. Neither his father nor mother worked, and so Kenny had to provide for the family. He worked at the local 'J-Mart' of a weekend.  
  
"Hey, Kenny," Kyle replied; now smiling a little. "How's it going?" Kenny shrugged.  
  
"Okay, I guess." He replied, bluntly. Kyle, too, shrugged. He looked around, and noticed that Stan wasn't with them.  
  
"Has anyone seen Stan, this morning?" He asked. Cartman and Kenny shook their heads. "Must've slept in, or something," Kyle figured. Cartman rolled up his sleeve, and looked at his watch.  
  
"Well he better hurry the Hell up! The bus will be here any minute," he grunted, rolling his sleeve down again. Just then, Stan appeared at the end of the street. "Here's the hippy now," Cartman snorted.  
  
"Hey, guys," Stan said, arriving alongside them at the bus-stop. He was wearing the same clothes as before, except that he was now wearing a blue hat (with red trimmings and a red tassel).  
  
"Hey, Stan," Kyle said, smiling. He was relieved to see his friend, as now he wouldn't have to ride to school with Cartman. "You're later than usual," Kyle began, "did you sleep in?" Stan shook his head.  
  
"No, I've been out." Stan explained. Kyle looked a little bemused.  
  
"Out?" He asked, out of curiosity; though it was more of a prompt for Stan to elaborate.  
  
"Yeah. I was out with Wendy." Cartman rolled his eyes.  
  
"This early? You spend too much time with her, dude! You're turning into a fucking faggot!" He snorted. Stan shot him an angry glance.  
  
"I've had a real nice start to the day; and if I weren't in such a good mood, I'd kick your ass, Cartman!" Stan growled, though quite calm.  
  
At that very moment, a screech cut the icy air, as the school bus tore down the lane. The boys were almost forced to leap back onto the grass to avoid it, as it swerved and stopped at the bus stop. The doors slid open and revealed the driver, Ms Crabtree.  
  
Ms Crabtree was small and fat. She had an old and haggard appearance, with messy brown hair and near-lifeless brown eyes. Her face was wrinkling, and she'd lost most of her teeth. She was wearing a dark blue sweater and brown trousers. Unbeknownst to her, a small bird had nestled in her hair. Ms Crabtree had been the Elementary School bus driver for many years, and the boys had seen very little of her after they'd left. However, she'd taken the job as High School bus driver a few years ago. She snarled, like an old dog, as the boys approached the bus.  
  
"Good morning, Ms Crabtree!" Stan said, smiling. He really was in a good mood, otherwise he would've just climbed straight onto the bus without acknowledging Ms Crabtree (in any friendly manner, at least).  
  
"WHAT did you say?!" Ms Crabtree yelled, causing Stan to recoil. He cleared his throat.  
  
"I said, 'good morning, Ms Crabtree'," He repeated, this time with a little less enthusiasm.  
  
"Get on, sit down and shut up!" She ordered, her grating voice stinging Stan's ears. He groaned, and climbed onto the bus. Kyle, Cartman and Kenny followed. The boys looked around for a place to sit, and noticed four empty seats towards the rear of the bus. Stan sat at the window, staring out dreamily. Kyle sat down next to him, and Cartman and Kenny sat down in front of them. The bus sped off for the next stop, lucky not to spin out of control on the frozen roads. Though Cartman and Kenny were talking, Stan and Kyle were sitting silently. That silence was broken, however, when…  
  
"H-hey, fellas!" Came a cheerful voice from behind them. The two jumped, and turned around to see Butters leaning over their seat. He was a tall and thin kid, with a patch of blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was wearing a sky blue shirt and dark green pants. Butters was a really nice guy. He was quite popular with some of the other kids for his friendly, bubbly personality. He lived at home with his two parents.  
  
"Hey, Butters," Stan and Kyle said, simultaneously. Butters smiled widely, revealing a small brace that he wore.  
  
"I can't b-believe it's the f-first day of school already. Time sure d-does fly during the summer b-break, don't it fellas?" He asked. Stan and Kyle nodded.  
  
"It sure does," Kyle agreed. Butters thought for a moment.  
  
"O-okay, see you later!" He said, smiling. He dropped back to his own seat, just behind Stan and Kyle. Stan looked out of the window; and, though the heavy snow was obscuring his vision, he could see that the bus was nearing another stop. After a few more seconds, the bus screeched to a halt. The doors opened, and three other kids climbed on. Stan's countenance dropped.  
  
At the head of the group was a tall, but slightly tubby kid. He had spiky black hair, and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing a blue coat (with dark blue trimmings), dark blue trousers and a blue hat (with earflaps and a yellow tassel). He was Craig. He was an incredibly blasé character, who very rarely lost his cool. He had a strange habit of flipping people off randomly, often without any apparent reason. Craig had two other people with him.  
  
The first kid was of average height and weight. He had dark brown hair and similarly coloured eyes. He was wearing a dark reddish-brown coat (with dark blue trimmings), dark brown trousers and dark blue gloves. His name was Clyde. Though he was, for the most part, a nice guy, Clyde often shared Craig's unpleasantness.  
  
The second kid was a short African-American of average weight. He had short jet-black hair, and brown eyes. He was wearing a purple shirt (with a yellow 'T') and dark blue trousers. He was Token. He was a really rich kid, with two well-off parents. Though, with all due respect, they'd worked hard for their money. Ever since the fourth grade, Token had hung around with Craig and Clyde. It was fair to say that neither Stan, Kyle, Cartman nor Kenny really liked Craig and his friends; and they often argued and fought with them. Looking around, Craig spotted four empty seats across the isle from Stan and the others. He grinned as he and his friends approached them.  
  
"How are you doing, assholes?" Craig asked, leaning over towards Stan and his friends. Stan looked back at him angrily.  
  
"We were fine until YOU came along," he replied. Craig grinned, then sat back down in his own seat. Stan mimicked Craig's taunting, and then turned his attentions back to the window. Everything outside seemed to pass in a blur of green and white as, by this time, the bus was again speeding through South Park. There were still two stops remaining.  
  
Meanwhile, Cartman and Kenny were still talking.  
  
"So, how's that job, you poor piece of crap?" Cartman asked, insulting him jokingly. Kenny groaned loudly.  
  
"If fucking sucks! I work ten hours on Saturday, five hours on Sunday; and for what? Fucking $52?! And, to make matters worse, I only keep $12 for myself!" Kenny sighed. "Yep… it sure does suck providing for the family. Sometimes I think I should just leave home - and leave my bastard parents behind me." Cartman thought for a while.  
  
"Why don't you?" He asked. Kenny shook his head, looking out of the window at the falling snow.  
  
"I don't know. Part of me wants to leave, but part of me knows that I can't just ignore my responsibilities…" Kenny replied, without looking from the window. Cartman stomped his foot angrily.  
  
"Goddamn, Kenny! Providing for your family ISN'T your responsibility. You've got a dad at home who should be doing that. But what does he do, except for sit on his ass and drink scotch?!" He said, again stomping his foot for emphasis. Kenny looked over at Cartman, and now spoke with more enthusiasm.  
  
"Yeah! You know what? Once I find a place to stay, I'm leaving home!" He announced, looking confident. Cartman grinned.  
  
"Cool! You can stay at my place - I know my mom won't mind." He said, obviously caught up in the atmosphere. Kenny nodded.  
  
"I might just do that. Thanks, Cartman." He said, smiling. He thought for a few moments, then began to laugh. "Oh, man! I never thought I'd EVER say 'thanks, Cartman'!" Cartman looked a little offended.  
  
"Ay! Don't forget, your poor ass will be staying at my place, so you owe me one!" He growled. Kenny grinned.  
  
"I won't be poor for long. After I leave home, I'll do something with myself! I'm not gonna sit by and rot like my dad is." He said. Cartman nodded.  
  
Suddenly, the bus screeched to a stop. A few kids fell from their chairs, and groaned. The bus doors opened, and two girls climbed up onto the aisle. One was Wendy, who was wearing the same clothes as before. The other was Bebe.  
  
Bebe was similar to Wendy in build, and almost as attractive. She had long, curly blonde hair and beautiful azure eyes that sparkled like sapphires. She was wearing a red coat (with grey trimmings), black trousers and grey gloves. Bebe was, and always had been, Wendy's best friend. She was quite bright, and had a fun personality. As a result, she was popular at school. She had been a close friend of Clyde for a long time and, after a while, the two grew on each other. By now, Bebe and Clyde were an item.  
  
Bebe and Wendy walked down the aisle. Bebe sat down next to Clyde, who was sitting behind Craig and Token. Wendy spotted an empty seat next to Butters, passing Stan on the way.  
  
"Hey, Stan," Wendy said, smiling. Stan looked up, and was pleased to see his girlfriend again.  
  
"Hey, Wendy," he replied, also smiling now. Wendy continued past Stan and Kyle, and sat down next to Butters. She leaned forward and noticed Stan yawning.  
  
"Feeling tired, Stan?" She asked. Stan smiled and nodded.  
  
"Yeah. That's the first time I've ever gotten up at five in the morning," he said. Wendy nodded.  
  
"Same here. It's no problem at the time, but it catches up with you." Stan smiled.  
  
"It was well worth it, though," he said. Wendy nodded again, this time with more enthusiasm.  
  
"It sure was," she said. Ms Crabtree turned around, and growled angrily.  
  
"Sit down and shut up!" She roared, shaking the very earth on which she was driving. Wendy looked up at her, and shot her a nasty glance.  
  
"I AM sitting down, you stupid bitch," she said, grinding her teeth. Ms Crabtree's eyes widened.  
  
"WHAT did you say?!" She yelled, showing her near-toothless mouth. Wendy looked at Stan nervously, who mouthed something to her. Wendy nodded.  
  
"I said, 'I am sitting down, but I have a bad itch'," she said. Ms Crabtree's scowl faded, and she looked appeased. She turned around, and continued to focus on the road. Wendy sighed. "Thanks Stan," she said. Stan smiled.  
  
"No problem, babe," he said, turning around as Wendy returned to her seat.  
  
Cartman and Kenny were still talking ahead of Stan and Kyle.  
  
"So, as I was saying," Cartman began (or continued). "We don't have a guest room, but I suppose you can stay in my room. You'll just have to bring a sleeping bag, or something." Kenny nodded.  
  
"Yeah. Even though my family's poor, I still have one of those," he said. He went quiet for a while, then spoke again. "Thanks again, Cartman," he said. Cartman shrugged.  
  
"It's no problem. Just remember that, at my house, we have this little thing called 'personal hygiene'. Seeing as you're poor, you probably haven't heard of - " Cartman stopped talking when he saw Kenny shooting him an angry glance. "I was only joking Kenny, jeez!" Cartman snorted.  
  
Just behind Cartman and Kenny, Kyle was getting a little bored. He looked over at Stan, who was looking out of the window again; though taking the occasional glance at Wendy.  
  
"So, Stan," Kyle began, grabbing Stan's attention. "I heard that you're parents are out of town this weekend. Do you have anything planned?" Stan thought for a moment, then shrugged.  
  
"I dunno. I can't rule anything out." He said.  
  
"Hey, maybe you should throw a party, or something. Y'know, like Craig did last year." Kyle suggested. Stan grinned, obviously liking the idea.  
  
"Maybe. I guess I'll think about it," he said, again looking out of the window. "Jeez, it seems like we've been on this bus for hours. How many stops have we got left?" He asked, looking back at Kyle.  
  
"I'm not positive, but I think there's only one to go." He said. Stan nodded, and lay back in his seat, yawning. He was thrust out of his seat, however, as the bus came to another sudden stop. The door hissed, sliding open, and the final kid climbed onto the bus.  
  
He was a little shorter than the others, but still of average weight. He had messy blond hair, and blue eyes. He was wearing a pale green shirt, improperly buttoned, and dark blue trousers. He seemed very jittery and nervous, and was carrying a flask with him. He unscrewed the lid, taking a quick sip, and sat down near the front of the bus.  
  
"Oh, man! First day of school - way too much pressure! Argh!" He squealed, looking around anxiously.  
  
He was Tweek, an old friend of Stan and Kyle's. His parents owned a coffee shop in town and so, from a young age, he'd drunk way too much coffee. He also got very little sleep. As a result, he was incredibly panicky and uneasy at all times.  
  
Suddenly, the bus swerved to avoid a kid on the road, and Tweek screamed.  
  
"Argh! Oh, Jesus! We almost crashed!" He again took a sip of his coffee, and sighed, breathing heavily. He rolled up his sleeve and looked at his watch. It read '8:55 AM'. "We're gonna be late!" He shook a little more, and looked out of the window. The snow wasn't as heavy as before, and Tweek could see quite a distance. Over a nearby hill, he spotted the rooftop of South Park High School. Tweek sighed, relieved.  
  
A few seconds later, the bus pulled up in front of the large building. Though it was three or four times the size of South Park Elementary, South Park High was quite a similar building. To the left of the school was a sizeable gym and playing field. To the right was an enormous yard.  
  
The doors of the bus opened, and Ms Crabtree yelled for the students to get off. They did just that and, within a short while, the bus had sped off into the snow. Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny were standing in front of the school. Stan sighed.  
  
"Here we go again…" He said, approaching the main entrance.  
  
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Closing A/N  
  
Well, there it is! The first chapter took me long enough to write and, for the moment, don't expect any immediate updates - I'm bogged down with all sorts of stuff at the moment! Anyway, let me know what you think.  
  
Until next time… 


	2. Getting Acquainted

Opening A/N  
  
I want to thank everyone (or those few people) for reviewing the first chapter of 'High School Escapades', 'A Little Introduction' (though I'm a little disappointed with the total of reviews so far - but I guess that reviews come with recognition). I've decided to begin writing the second chapter right away. Now that I've introduced MOST of the main characters, I can build on the plotlines I mentioned in my first chapter. Please note, however, that I have very little knowledge of the American education system - as I grew up in Britain. I'll simply use my imagination (and the little understanding I have from other fan fictions) and create my own system, though it'll probably be very far from reality.  
  
Anyway, enjoy chapter two! Don't forget to review!  
  
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Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny approached the entrance of South Park High School, along with several other kids. All of a sudden, more and more kids appeared, trickling like tributaries into a main river of bodies; flowing towards the building. Amongst the crowd of chattering kids, Stan and his friends struggled to breath, as they were whisked off towards the building. Somehow, they managed to break away from the group and take refuge to the side, panting. As the rabble subsided; the boys began climbing the stone steps that led up to the entrance of the school. They pushed the heavy double-doors ajar, and stepped inside.  
  
Ahead of the group was a long corridor - the main corridor of the school. It intercepted and spawned other smaller corridors, forming a labyrinth-like structure of winding passageways. The corridors themselves were typical of such schools. The blandly-painted walls were plastered with message boards; jam-packed with memos and notices. Colourful posters promoting school clubs and teams sat alongside them, adding life to an otherwise sombre scene. Door and lockers were everywhere, ranged like light infantry along the walls, each individual one named and numbered.  
  
In terms of bodies, the corridors were literally overcrowded with people; looking like Mexico City on a busy day… minus the Mexicans, of course. Students and teachers alike were everywhere; rummaging through lockers, rushing about frantically, or just hanging around and talking. Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny began to squeeze their way down the corridor (Cartman especially), passing a few familiar faces on the way. All of the boys (along with most of their classmates from Elementary) were based in room twenty-eight. The room was to the far end of the corridor, near the Main Hall; so it took quite a while for the boys to reach it through the crowds. They eventually did, and they stopped at the door. It was your average door; a wooden one, with a frosted glass panel. A sign hung from it, reading '28'. Stan pushed the door open, and he and the others stepped inside.  
  
The room, painted yellow, was of mediocre size. Fifteen or so small desks filled the room, and several students were already sitting down. At the head of the room was a blackboard. Next to the board was another desk, much larger than the others, which was empty. Message boards and small posters, as was the case in the corridors, covered the walls. Adjacent to the door was a large window, that covered most of the wall. Outside, the snow was again falling heavily, and the tarmac of the main yard was buried beneath a thick white quilt. Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny took their seats. The seating plan was as follows… Back row: Cartman, Kenny, Kyle, Stan and Wendy. Middle row: Bebe, Clyde, Craig and Token. Front row: Butters, Jordan, Pip and Tweek. At that moment, however, only Stan, Kyle, Cartman, Kenny, Wendy, Butters and Tweek were in their seats. After a few seconds, a bell rang and the door burst open. The rest of the students emptied into the room, talking and laughing amongst themselves. They all took their respective seats, and continued talking to each other.  
  
Jordan was an average girl, of normal height and weight. She had curly, shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes. She was wearing a brown coat and black trousers. Jordan had been in the same class as Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny since kindergarten, but nobody seemed to pay any attention to her - she was a background figure. She was a bit of a tomboy, and hung around more with boys than other girls. Her main friendships existed outside of school.  
  
Red was similar in build to Jordan. She had deep natural red hair and emerald-green eyes. She was wearing a blue coat (with light purple trimmings), dark blue trousers and light purple gloves. Red was an attractive girl, but she was quite arrogant. As a result, she wasn't all too popular. She used to hang around with Wendy and Bebe in grade school, but now Red got little notice outside of her own group of friends… which didn't include either Wendy or Bebe.  
  
Pip was quite a short kid. He had shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a brown cap (with black trimmings), a white shirt under a red jacket (with black trimmings), turquoise trousers and a brown bowtie. Pip was originally from England, and was often ridiculed in Elementary School. Since then, however, most kids had began to tolerate Pip (though not all actually accepted him). Both of Pip's parents were dead, and he'd lived in an orphanage when he was younger. Nowadays, though, no-one really knew where he lived… nor cared where he lived.  
  
As the class continued to wait for the arrival of their teacher, who would give them their timetables then send them to their lessons, Cartman leaned over to his right to talk to Kenny.  
  
"So, Kenny," he began. "When are you planning on moving out of your shack?" Kenny looked offended for a little while, but let it pass.  
  
"I'm not sure." He admitted, thinking. "But I'll probably tell my parents in a little while. To be honest, I don't think they'll care about me leaving - but they might want me to stay for the sake of the money I bring home."  
  
"And that's exactly why your leaving!" Cartman exclaimed, stamping his foot (as he did in chapter 1). "You're family are poor-ass losers, and the only reason they want you around is because you work and provide for them! Goddamn it, Kenny - you shouldn't have to do that!" Kenny nodded.  
  
"I know. I mean, you've got a single mom - and she fucks things for a living! She's a dirty whore, but at least she tries to earn some money!" Cartman nodded.  
  
"That's - ay!" He shot Kenny an angry glance, having only just realised what he'd said. Kenny simply shrugged.  
  
"Well, it's the truth," Kenny said. Cartman thought for a while, then sighed.  
  
"Alright, I'll let you off this once - but don't let it happen while you're staying at my place, you poor piece of crap." He said, sternly. Kenny just nodded.  
  
"Sure thing, fat ass," he replied, grinning. Cartman rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to counter with another insult of his own. At that moment, the classroom door opened and all eyes fell on the front of the class. The students let out a unified (and, therefore, deafening) groan, as a middle-aged man stepped into the room.  
  
He was quite tall; with very little grey hair, blue eyes and glasses. He was wearing a light green jacket and dark green trousers. It was, of course, the kids' former Fourth Grade teacher, Mr Garrison. Mr Garrison was a homosexual. He'd lived in denial up until the Fourth Grade, when he finally came out. Plain and simply, he was a total pervert. The kids thought they'd seen the last of him when they left grade school but, apparently, they'd yet to see the last of Hebert Garrison.  
  
"Okay, class, settle down." Garrison said, walking across the room and dumping a large stack of papers onto the desk. He picked up a piece of chalk, and began to write his name on the blackboard. "I'm your new homeroom teacher, Mr Garrison. That's spelt - "  
  
"We know who you are," Stan interrupted, cutting Garrison off in mid-flow. "You taught us all the way through grade school, remember?!" Garrison turned around, recognising Stan's voice, and was shocked to see him.  
  
"Stanley?" He asked, almost frozen with shock. Stan nodded. Garrison looked around the room, eyeing the other students - all of whom he had indeed taught all the way through grade school. "Oh no - this can't be!" He continued to look around until his gaze, as if drawn upon the fat ass by his own gravitational pull, landed on Eric Cartman. "Oh God! Not you?!" Cartman winced.  
  
"How do you think I feel?! I thought I'd never have to see you again, but… Goddamn it!" He groaned. Garrison shook his head furiously, as if trying to clear it. He spoke quietly, but audibly enough for the students to hear and understand him.  
  
"Okay, okay, okay. It's been a long time; I'm sure you've all matured." He said, pacing about the room. "And even if you haven't, there's nothing I can do now." Kyle nodded.  
  
"I think you'll find that we have matured, and we haven't got all day; so hurry up and give us our timetables!" He said, quite monotonically. Garrison stopped pacing the room and looked up.  
  
"I - I left them in the staff restroom. I'll be right back!" He said, hurrying out of the room and slamming the door behind him. As soon as Garrison had gone, the class erupted into noise.  
  
"Oh, man! I can't believe this!" Stan groaned, his face in his hands.  
  
"It's not that bad, Stan," Wendy said, leaning over from her seat. "He used to take advantage of our lack of knowledge, and fill our heads with all sorts of crazy stuff. But we're in High School now, so he can't mess us around like he used to when we were kids." Stan looked over at her and smiled.  
  
"You're right. And even if you weren't, he's only our homeroom teacher - so we won't have to be around him much." He said, obviously looking on the bright side. Is was something Stan was always able to do when he was around Wendy. Cartman, on the other hand, wasn't to be so easily swayed.  
  
"I might as well be dead!" He snarled, in conversation with Kenny. "Now I have to put up with that fucking asshole every fucking day for the whole fucking year!" He quietened down a little, seemingly calm, before bursting-out again. "I hate that fucking queer!"  
  
"You're not the only one," Kenny said. "But there's nothing we can do. We'll just have to put up with the sick bastard." Cartman looked over at Kenny, his face reddening with rage, and then mumbled something under his breath. As other students expressed their disgust at having Mr Garrison back, he burst in through the door. He was carrying a small wallet.  
  
"Okay, children," Garrison began, "I have your timetables in this wallet. I'll hand them out alphabetically. Remember, when it comes to your classes, 'L' stands for lower; 'A' stands for average; and 'H' stands for higher." He continued, now moving swiftly around the room, handing out timetables. "And don't feel too bad if you're in a lot of lower groups; you might be able to make some money for smack by selling yourselves on the streets of Denver in the future."  
  
Garrison walked to the front of the class, having just given Token his timetable. He surveyed the scene. Most kids were looking relatively content, some overjoyed, and some devastated.  
  
"Oh, weak, dude!" Cartman exclaimed, gazing angrily at his timetable. "I only made one average class this year!" He was tempted to scrunch the timetable, but settled for crushing it into his pocket - out of his sight. Over to Cartman's left, Stan looked far more content.  
  
"I made mostly higher classes, one or two average classes, and no lower classes at all!" He said, grinning widely. Wendy and Kyle leaned over, curious. Stan handed Wendy his timetable, who scanned it with her eyes.  
  
"We have a lot of lessons together this time," she said, smiling. She handed the timetable to Kyle, who too took a quick look.  
  
"Yep," he began, "it looks like all three of us will be seeing a lot less of Cartman for the next year." Smiling, Kyle handed Stan his timetable again. "Things have gone pretty well, huh?" He asked. Stan nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he replied. Garrison sat down at his desk, leaving the students to discuss their timetables in the last ten minutes before first lesson. When the ten minutes were up, Garrison dismissed the class.  
  
Stan, Kyle and Wendy walked out into the cramped corridor, which was again overflowing with students. Cartman and Kenny soon followed them out, stopping alongside them. Stan turned to Cartman, grinning. He just had to rub the salt in whilst the wounds were still fresh.  
  
"We have higher English in room fifty-six now," he began, "what about you?" Cartman shot Stan an angry glance; seeing quite rightly that, within his question, was a subliminal insult.  
  
"I have lower English is room twenty-nine," he replied, speaking angrily but quietly. Noticing Cartman's impending rage, Stan's own smile grew.  
  
"Well, we'll be seeing you in a while, fat boy." He said; as he, Kyle and Wendy disappeared into the river of bodies flowing off to the right. Cartman's angry expression remained, as he and Kenny were swept off in the other direction.  
  
"Goddamn stupid hippies," he grunted, pushing past everyone in his way. "They think they're so smart, just 'cause they have 'higher English'," Cartman continued, imitating Stan as he said 'higher English'. He continued, with Kenny, through the crowds to room twenty-nine. Groaning, he pushed the door open and walked inside.  
  
The room was very similar to his homeroom, filled with desks and with a large window on the far wall. Grunting, Cartman sat down at the back of the room, and Kenny sat alongside him. There were a lot of students seated around them, talking amongst themselves. Cartman looked around, recognising Craig and Jordan in the sea of otherwise unfamiliar faces. At that moment, the door swung open and the teacher came inside.  
  
He was a short and fat man, with a small amount of brown hair combed and gelled across his balding head. He had green eyes, and a pair of squared spectacles rested on his large reddening nose, which was splattered across his face like a tomato. He was wearing a white shirt beneath a dark blue sweater, and brown trousers. He was carrying a tower of papers in his arms, seemingly cradling it like a newborn baby.  
  
The man walked across the classroom, stopped at the desk and dropped the pile of papers onto it. They landed with a crash, and immediately scattered across the desk's splintering wooden surface. The rickety frame of the desk buckled beneath the weight of the papers, as the teacher picked up an eraser and a piece of chalk.  
  
"Okay students," he snorted, somewhat like a strangled piglet. "I'm Mr O'Connor - you might need some help spelling that, so I'll write it on the board." Turning to the board, O'Connor erased some notes from the previous term and then began to write his name. "That's O'-C-O-N-N-O-R. O'Connor." He said. Again snorting like the warthog he resembled, O'Connor turned to face the class. "We're going to be stuck together for the next year or so, so I suppose we'd better get to know each other. I'll just go around the class so you can introduce yourselves."  
  
----------  
  
Meanwhile, in room fifty-six; Kyle, Stan, Wendy were sitting together (in that order, left to right) in the centre of a small collection of students - the best in South Park High. People such as Pip and Mark were amongst them. The room was quite different from the others so far. It was much smaller, with less desks. A bulging bookshelf rested along the back wall, and there were several smaller windows in place of the larger one. At the head of the room was the teacher's desk and a large whiteboard. It was clear that the majority of the school's budget was concentrated on the higher classes. The teacher stood in front of the seated students, holding a small box of board markers in one hand and a book in the other.  
  
She was a thin, fragile-looking middle-aged woman; with stringy grey hair and beady green eyes. Her wrinkling face was powdered with make-up, which gathered in her creases as the snow did in the smaller crevices of the mountains. She was wearing a pale pink shirt under a tattered white cardigan, which was yellowing with age, and pale pink trousers.  
  
"Attention, students," she began; her grating, scraping voice sounding like a broken vinyl twice her age. "I am Mrs McClellan, and I am your higher English teacher." The students stared back at McClellan blankly, as she continued to speak. "Seeing as we'll be together for the next year, we'd better get acquainted. I'll take your names and record your seating positions, as I'll need some way to remember your faces." She leaned over and opened the top drawer of the desk, taking out a register and pen.  
  
----------  
  
Back in room twenty-nine, Mr O'Connor was walking around the class; being introduced to the students, one by one. He came to Cartman.  
  
"Are you are?" He asked, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and blowing into it. Cartman winced as O'Connor grunted.  
  
"Eric Cartman," Cartman replied, without looking up at O'Connor. O'Connor flicked through the register, muttering 'Cartman' to himself. He came to a collection of pages entitled 'Cartman, Eric Theodore'. His eyes scanned it quickly through his spectacles.  
  
"Alright, Eric," O'Connor began, flicking through the 'Cartman' section. "It says here that your current grade average is 'F', and your target grade is 'E'." Cartman rolled his eyes, totally disinterested - he wasn't one for trying in school. "If you work hard this year, you might scrape an 'E'." Cartman nodded unenthusiastically, and O'Connor walked past him to Kenny. "Okay, who are you?" He asked, adjusting his spectacles.  
  
"Kenny McCormick," Kenny replied. O'Connor nodded slightly, and flicked through his register. He came to the collection of pages entitled 'McCormick, Kenneth'. O'Connor snorted, scanning and flicking through the pages.  
  
"Okay, Kenny," he began, "you seem to be doing okay. You're grade average is 'D', and your target is 'D'. If you keep working at your current level, you should maintain your target. Hell, if you work hard enough, you could surpass it." Kenny nodded, a little more interested in succeeding than Cartman. He did not want to emulate his father. "Nice meeting you, son," O'Connor said, passing by him and on to the next student.  
  
----------  
  
In room fifty-six, Mrs McClellan was going through the same procedure with her higher English pupils. She had just come to Kyle.  
  
"Your name, please," McClellan said, without looking up from her register. Kyle cleared his throat, which was a little dry from the lack of talking he'd done.  
  
"Kyle Brovlofski, ma'am," he replied. McClellan wrote his name down on a sheet of paper, which seemed to be her seating plan, and flicked through her register. She came to the 'Brovlofski, Kyle' section, and then scanned the pages with her beady eyes. Flicking through, she again nodded in approval.  
  
"Kyle, you are doing very well," she began, "you're current grade average is a 'B', and your target grade is an 'A-'. With a little work, I see no reason why you can't reach your minimum potential." Without another word, McClellan moved on to Stan, who was talking to Wendy. McClellan noticed this, and cleared her throat loudly. Stan jumped in his seat and turned around, startled. "Name?" She asked, beginning to flick through the register.  
  
"Stan Marsh," he replied, looking up at McClellan. She continued to flick through the register, until she came to the section entitled 'Marsh, Stanley'. "Okay, Stanley," McClellan began, "you're doing okay. You're grade average is a 'B-', and you're target is 'B'." She looked over at Wendy, then back at Stan. "If you spend a little less time talking, and a little more time working, you might achieve your target". McClellan walked past Stan and over to Wendy. "What's your name?"  
  
"Wendy Testaburger, ma'am," she replied. McClellan turned quickly to the pages entitled 'Testaburger, Wendy', and looked through them; nodding with approval. "In spite of your attitude," she began (Wendy looked a little confused, but still listened intently), "you're grade average is 'A', and your target grade is 'A' - you're doing very well." McClellan closed her register and walked to the front of the class. She cleared her throat to grab the attention of the students.  
  
"Okay, students," McClellan began. "I've taken a note of your current seating positions, so please sit in the same place every lesson." She reached over to the desk, and took a board marker out of it's case. She walked over to the board. "Anyway, it's time to begin." McClellan turned to face the board, and wrote 'Poetry Devices: Iambic Pentameter'. The class groaned in union.  
  
The lesson passed slowly, with Mrs McClellan droning on and on, drumming in the effectiveness of poetic techniques repeatedly until she sounded like a broken record. Though bored out of their minds, the students listened carefully and, eventually, the bell sounded for recess.  
  
"Okay, students," McClellan said, picking up the eraser. "I hope you've all learned something about poetic techniques this morning." She turned around, beginning to clear the board. "Seeing as this is your first day back, I won't be setting any homework - but don't expect such generosity in the future. Class dismissed." With that, the students bolted from their seats and out of the door; as if they'd been choked of clean air for the past two hours or so. Stan, Kyle and Wendy were amongst those students.  
  
"Oh, man! What a bitch!" Stan exclaimed. Kyle and Wendy nodded. "I swear, if I didn't have you guys, I'd shoot myself." Kyle laughed and nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he began. "If we weren't in the same class, and I was stuck in there by myself, I'd probably go insane. And if I have to hear about 'iambic pentameter' one more time, I don't know what I'd be driven to!". The trio walked along the cramped corridor towards the main entrance and the yard.  
  
"She seems real strict," Wendy added. "Stan and I were only talking quietly while she was going around the class; and she acts as if we committed a hate crime, or something!" Stan and Kyle laughed, and Wendy shook her head. "She must have some real emotional problems." Stan nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he said, as the group neared the main entrance. Pushing the heavy doors open, they walked out onto the snow-laden yard, which almost looked more like Alaska than Colorado. The snow was, however, falling much less heavily now. Stan, Kyle and Wendy stopped in the centre of the yard. Just then, Cartman and Kenny approached them. Cartman looked really pissed off, and the others noticed.  
  
"Oh my God, that completely sucked ass!" Cartman yelled, loud enough to wake the dead. Stan sighed.  
  
"What is it, fat ass?" He asked. Cartman shot him an angry glance.  
  
"I'll let that insult go for now, Stan. Anyway, it's our Goddamn English teacher - he's an asshole! He treats us like we're total dumb asses!" Kyle grinned.  
  
"You ARE a total dumb ass, Cartman," he snickered. Cartman gave Kyle an equally unfriendly look, but again let it go.  
  
"No, no - you don't understand, Jew! I mean, he came into the room and said 'I'm Mr O'Connor, you might need help spelling that'… and then he wrote his name on the board!" Cartman spoke disgustedly, and Wendy rolled her eyes.  
  
"Cartman, spell 'O'Connor'," she said. Cartman glared at Wendy.  
  
"O'-K-O-N-N-A-R-R. Oh, Goddamn it!" Cartman exclaimed, stamping his feet. "Well, that's not the point," he continued, "O'Connor's a total douche bag!"  
  
"You think YOU'VE got it bad?" Kyle asked, rhetorically. "Our teacher's real bitch!" At that very moment, the bell sounded for the next lesson. Stan groaned.  
  
"What the Hell?! That didn't last very long!" He said. The others shrugged, and Stan took out his timetable. He scanned it quickly, and saw that he had higher Science. "Well, we've got higher Science now - guess we'll see you at lunchtime, Cartman." He, Kyle and Wendy turned around and headed again for main entrance. Cartman groaned, and followed them.  
  
A short distance behind, Butters and Tweek were also heading for the main entrance. They weren't as intelligent as Stan, Kyle or Wendy, but not as unintelligent as Cartman or Kenny; and so they were both in the average Science group. The lesson was being taught in lab twelve, which was on the top floor of the main building.  
  
"I made all a-average classes this year," Butters began, as he and Tweek pulled open the door of the main entrance. "I g-guess my parents will be happy." Tweek nodded.  
  
"Y-yeah, I made average classes too. Argh!" He stopped and moved to the side of the hallway, taking a sip of coffee from the flask which was hooked onto his belt. Twitching, he replaced the flask and continued, with Butters, up the stairs to the Science department. Prior to this moment, neither Butters nor Tweek had ever been into the Science department. It was mangy and dark, the dusty walls plastered with tattered posters and aging memos. The rotting floorboards creaked beneath the feet of Butters and Tweek, as they neared lab twelve. "Oh, Jesus! This lab was taken right out of a horror movie, man." Tweek said. Butters' eyes widened.  
  
"A h-horror movie?!" He spluttered, looking around nervously. "I-I don't really like h-horror movies." Tweek raised an eyebrow, his heading jerking to the side momentarily.  
  
"You don't like horror movies?" He asked, stopping at a door. Butters shook his head. Tweek looked up at the door which was, like the floorboards, rotting and splintering. A small sign above it, dangling from the frame on a bent and rusty nail, read 'L 12'. Tweek looked over at Butters, who shrugged, and then pushed the door open.  
  
In comparison to the dark and dank corridor, the actual interior of lab twelve was clean and tidy. The white walls were bordered with notices about 'health in the lab', alongside more colourful memos and scientific posters. Opposite the door were several small windows, through which trees, heavy with fresh white snow, could be seen. At the front of the room was a long wooden desk which, like all of the other small ones in the room, was nailed into the floor. Looking down at the floor, Butters could see his reflection and that of Tweek. In short, the room was overly clean and tidy - everything was sparkling and white. Looking around, Tweek noticed that most of the seats were already filled; and that everyone's eyes, include those of the teacher, were on Butters and himself. Tweek twitched violently.  
  
"Argh! Too much pressure!" He exclaimed.  
  
"Alright, boys, why are you so late?" The teacher, standing at the front of the room, asked. He was a tall and thin man, about mid-thirties; with a mop of dark brown hair, a matching moustache and similarly-coloured eyes. He was wearing a dark brown shirt, light brown trousers and a red tie beneath a long white lab coat, which was barely buttoned and came down to his ankles.  
  
"W-we couldn't find the l-lab, sir," Butters said, looking at the teacher. The teacher nodded.  
  
"Alright, take a seat," he began. "Oh, by the way, I'm your Science teacher, Mr Griffin. And you are?"  
  
"I'm Leo Stotch, but everyone calls me Butters," Butters began. "This is Tweek Tweak." He pointed at Tweek, who twitched nervously. Griffin nodded, and Butters and Tweek sat alongside each other at the back of the room.  
  
"Okay, class, as I was saying," Griffin began. "This year, your last in High School, will probably be the most important year of your life so far." He turned to the board, and began writing. "There will be a lot of exams, so there'll be a big onus on YOU to handle this…" Griffin moved aside, revealing the word that he'd just written on the board - 'pressure'. Tweek's eyes widened, and he jumped up from his seat.  
  
"Argh?! Pressure?!" He yelled, almost automatically. Griffin recoiled, surprised. Tweek looked around, really embarrassed, and then sat back down.  
  
"That's… right, Tweek," Griffin said, giving Tweek a strange look before turning back to the board.  
  
"Mr Griffin?" Tweek tried to grab Griffin's attention, raising his hand and waving it around. Griffin turned around again.  
  
"What is it, Tweek?" He asked, folding his arms.  
  
"Argh! I really need to go to the bathroom." Griffin nodded.  
  
"Alright, but hurry up - I'll be timing you," he said. Tweek shot up from his seat and towards the door.  
  
"Timing me?! That's way too much pressure, man!" He said, hurrying out of the door. Griffin, looking confused, turned back to the board and continued teaching. The rest of the lesson passed quickly and, eventually, the ball rang to signal the end. Griffin looked up at the bell, which was mounted on the wall above his head, and grabbed an eraser from the desk.  
  
"Class dismissed," he said, cleaning the notes from the board. The students hurried from their seats and out of the room, with much more speed and enthusiasm than they'd had when they were coming in.  
  
----------  
  
Down in the cafeteria, Kyle, Stan and Wendy (in that order, front to back) were waiting in the lunch line. The cafeteria was absolutely massive, almost dwarfing the rest of the school combined. At the far end of the room, opposite the pair of double-doors that were the entrances, was the kitchen. Everywhere else, there was nothing but tables, chairs and students. Several cleaners patrolled the room, picking up rubbish and collecting empty plates and trays. In the lunch line, which meandered like an indoor river along the walls of the cafeteria, Kyle turned around to face Stan.  
  
"So," he began, "have you thought anymore about a party at the weekend?" Stan nodded.  
  
"Yeah. I'm gonna have to go through with it, I can tell this is gonna be a long week. Besides, I haven't done anything like that in a while." Kyle nodded and Wendy leaned forward, overhearing the conversation.  
  
"You're having a party at the weekend, Stan?" She asked. Stan nodded.  
  
"Yeah. My parents are out of town again," he said, as they walked into the kitchen. Behind the counter was a large, black man. He had black, but greying, hair and dark brown eyes. He was wearing a red shirt, blue jeans, a chefs hat and an apron (reading 'CHEF'). He was, of course, Jerome McElroy - or 'Chef'.  
  
"Hello there, children!" He exclaimed loudly and jovially. Kyle, Stan and Wendy were about to reply with 'hi, Chef', when they recoiled in surprise.  
  
"Chef?!" Stan spluttered, his mouth agape. Chef nodded. "What are you doing here?!"  
  
"It's a long story, children, so I'll cut it down a little. I quit my job at the Elementary school a few weeks ago and, within days, I was offered the job here - I just couldn't turn down the opportunity to see all my favourite little crackers again!" Kyle, Stan and Wendy smiled, as did Chef. "You've grown quite a lot."  
  
"Well, it has been about seven years!" Kyle said. Chef laughed and nodded.  
  
"Yeah, it has," he conceded. He looked at Kyle; and then at Stan and Wendy, who were holding hands. Chef smiled widely. "Well, I never," he began. "Don't tell me you two crackers still got something going on?!" Stan and Wendy both smiled a little.  
  
"Yeah," Stan said. Chef shook his head in disbelief.  
  
"And I thought it was just a silly childhood crush! How long is that now? Nine years?" He asked. Stan and Wendy both nodded. Chef looked at Wendy who, as I've already mentioned, had grown into a very attractive girl. "You're one Hell of a lucky cracker, Stan," Chef said. Stan nodded.  
  
"Do you think I don't know that?" He asked, grinning. Wendy blushed a little.  
  
"There's so much I want to talk to you three about, but I'll end up getting fired if I don't feed all of these kids!" Chef said, dumping some food on their plates. Stan thought for a minute, then spoke.  
  
"Well, I'm planning on throwing a party at the weekend - you're welcome to come along. We could always catch up there." Chef thought, then smiled and nodded.  
  
"I might just do that," he said. Looking at the long line of hungry kids, Chef motioned for Stan and the others to move along. "Let's go, you're holding up the line… and I'll see you tomorrow!" Kyle, Stan and Wendy walked out of the kitchen and sat down in the cafeteria to eat.  
  
"Wow," Stan began, "I can't believe Chef's actually back!" Kyle nodded.  
  
"Yeah. He seemed pretty pleased to see us again." He replied, picking at his plate of fries with his fork. Wendy looked over at Stan.  
  
"Stan?" She caught his attention, and he looked back.  
  
"What is it, Wendy?" He asked, putting down his soda can.  
  
"I was just wondering," she began. "Who are you inviting to your party?" She asked. Stan thought for a few moments, then shrugged.  
  
"I dunno. I guess it'll be the usual crowd - you, the guys and, if I let them know, most of the upper school will probably show up too."  
  
"Me?" Wendy asked, a little surprised. Stan looked bemused.  
  
"Well, yeah. I mean, if wouldn't be the same without my girlfriend there, would it?" He asked, taking a sip from his soda can. Wendy shook her head.  
  
"No, it's not that. It's just that, well, I live on the other side of town." She said. Stan shrugged.  
  
"So? You could always stay over. Like I said, my parents won't be around…" Stan suggested, taking another sip of soda. "I guess Kyle could stay too - I don't think his parents would take too kindly too him coming home at three or four in the morning!" Kyle nodded.  
  
"Yeah, I suppose so," he replied. "But I'm guessing that the party will be my responsibility if you two decide to… finally get it on." Stan and Wendy looked at each other awkwardly, then at Kyle angrily.  
  
"It's not like you've ever done it, Kyle!" Stan said, sounding a little angry. Kyle shrugged, and lifted his soda can to his mouth.  
  
"No, but I haven't had a girlfriend for nine years," he said, drinking. Stan and Wendy again looked at each other.  
  
Meanwhile, on the other side of the cafeteria, Cartman and Kenny were sitting together, talking.  
  
"So," Cartman began, in between bites of a chocolate bar he'd bought. "When are you planning on telling your parents you're moving out?" Kenny didn't think for long.  
  
"I'm probably gonna tell them tonight. If all goes as planned, I won't be sleeping that shit hole tonight, or ever again." He replied. Cartman grinned.  
  
"Sweet!" He said, stuffing his face with another chocolate bar.  
  
----------  
  
The rest of the school day passed uneventfully. At long last, the bell sounded to indicate the end of the day. The classes were dismissed, and the students poured out into the yard like water from a jug. In the afternoon, Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny always walked home together. Stan, Kyle and Wendy came out of the building, having just had another lesson together. They descended the stone steps of the building, and Stan turned to Wendy. He gave her a kiss.  
  
"See you later, babe," he said, smiling.  
  
"See you later, Stan," Wendy said, turning around and walking out of the school gates. Stan watched her until she disappeared around the corner. Stan and Kyle were now standing at the main entrance, waiting for Cartman and Kenny. After a few minutes or so, they came out of the doors and joined them.  
  
"Hey, guys," Kenny said.  
  
"Hey, Kenny," Stan and Kyle replied. Stan looked at Cartman.  
  
"Hey, fat ass," he said, grinning. Cartman didn't bother answering. The four walked out of the school gates together, and out into the street.  
  
"You guys," Kenny began, grabbing the attention of both Stan and Kyle. "By this time tomorrow, I won't be poor anymore!" Stan and Kyle looked at each other, confused.  
  
"What do you mean?" Kyle asked.  
  
"Well, I'm moving out of my house!" Kenny exclaimed excitedly. Stan and Kyle again looked bemused.  
  
"Why?" Stan asked. Kenny rolled his eyes.  
  
"Because, dumb ass, my family treat me like shit! They make me work and provide for them, when all they do is sit around on their asses!" He replied.  
  
"Where are you moving into?" Stan asked. Kenny motioned towards Cartman, who was walking alongside him.  
  
"I'm moving in with Cartman, he says his mom won't mind," he said. Stan shuddered.  
  
"Dude, I'd rather live in your shack with your violent family and eat stale frozen waffles for dinner than move in with Cartman!" He said, laughing a little. Kenny shook his head.  
  
"No you wouldn't. If you were to spend one minute in my house, you'd understand why I have to leave!" He said. Kenny looked down the snowy vale ahead. "This time tomorrow, I'll be free."  
  
==========  
  
Closing A/N  
  
Well, there it is - the second chapter of 'High School Escapades'. It took me quite a long time to write, but I'm generally pleased with the eventual product.  
  
Please R&R, and you'll be hearing from me soon. 


	3. The Moving Out Party

Opening A/N  
  
Okay, here is the third chapter of 'High School Escapades', entitled 'Moving Out Party'. Please note, however, that this is not Stan's party. 'Moving Out Party' is supposed to be ironic, and the events of this chapter will, hopefully, illustrate this.  
  
A quick note: some sections of the opening are looks into the characters' minds. These sections consist of thoughts - spontaneous feelings that flow into one another. As a result, this introduction may seem confused at times; but I can assure you that it is the intended effect (especially during Stan's thoughts).  
  
Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to review!  
  
==========  
  
Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny walked out of the gates of South Park High School, alongside countless other students. They spilled out into the streets like a drink from a mug; their chatter merging with the chirping of nearby hilltop birds, creating an insane background sound that was only really heard in these parts of the mountains. The snow was again falling heavily, blanketing the ground in a thick, white layer of pure cold. Ahead of the boys was a long vale, similar to that on which the bus stop stood. A tarmac road, cleared by the constant passing of vehicles, stretched from one end of the lane to the other. On either side of it were snow-laden sidewalks, bordered by trees; heavy with the same product of the icy mountain air and rain. The boys started down the lane, keeping to the same left-hand sidewalk from which the school could be accessed.  
  
After Kenny's somewhat rebellious statement, very few words were exchanged between the four students for quite a while. They all lived within twenty minutes of the school, and only really took the bus in the morning because they couldn't be bothered walking. Being in different classes for most of the afternoon, the four usually used the walk home to catch up on each other's activities. This time, however, they kept their own thoughts to themselves.  
  
Stan was, of course, thinking about the party he was throwing at the weekend. As was always the case with him, Wendy was at the focal point of his thoughts. He had always planned on asking her to come to the party; but he hadn't planned on asking her to stay overnight. The thought excited him, but also unnerved him. He knew that his parents wouldn't approve - they'd think unnecessarily funny things. That was to be expected, though; Stan asking Wendy to stay overnight was quite suggestive. He hadn't meant for it to be, mind you. Walking alongside his friends, Stan smiled a little. No wonder Kyle had made that comment in the cafeteria. Not like he had the right to - Stan and Wendy were just taking things slowly… well, that was their excuse, at least. The fact of the matter was that they often found it very difficult to talk about, let alone engage in, anything sexual together. If there was any one flaw in the relationship that Stan and Wendy had, then that was it - not that it was a problem that couldn't be solved. Stan sighed, his gaze falling to his pacing feet. He knew that their moment would come, sooner or later… and, though he knew that it'd probably be the best moment of his life, he was nervous…  
  
Kyle was walking alongside Stan, just to his left. Unlike his friend, he wasn't thinking about Wendy, sex, or anything of the sort. Stan's impending party dominated his thoughts, shoving aside everything else. Kyle saw the party as a break from school because, even though they'd have only been back for five days on the night of the party, he could tell that it was going to be a tough year. Besides, Kyle liked parties. Ever since the start of High School, it had been the big thing to throw a party when your parents were out-of-town. Craig and Clyde were the big guns - the main men. Every party they threw was a massive event and, when the two of them made a collaborative effort, all Hell broke loose. They were almost worshipped for this, but Kyle knew that Stan could outdo them. A lot of people would show up for Stan's party and, if Craig and Clyde were among them (which they most likely would be), it'd top the 'Cow Days'. An icy wind blew by and, as he shivered, Kyle sighed. He knew that he'd have a hard time actually getting to, and staying at, Stan's party. His parents were massively over-protective, and they'd probably rather die than see him go. Kyle figured that he'd just have to distort the truth a little. He'd say that 'Stan's having a few friends over', and he'd probably get away with it. He hated lying to his parents, but there was no way that he'd miss the party. Not for some dumb ass ethical issue, anyway.  
  
The four boys continued down the road, their school disappearing into the foggy background; as if swallowed by Mother Nature herself. The treetops rustled, sprinkling the undergrowth with snow, as the fierce winter wind blew on. The boys were now nearing the end of the vale, turning, at the next fork, onto a new one. In the distance, they could see the snowy main street of South Park; the usually colourful buildings almost lifeless beneath a melancholy blanket. Just then, a car sped by, whipping ice into the boys' faces. Cartman, who got a cold mouthful of the muddied snow, groaned loudly.  
  
"Ay! Fucking asshole," he spluttered, spitting the snow out onto the floor. "Watch what your fucking doing!" He yelled; raising his fist at the car, which was driving off into the distance. Cartman growled, kicking a pile of snow into the road in anger. He noticed that the others were walking ahead and, sighing, he hurried to catch them up.  
  
Cartman's mind was all over the place at the moment; with all sorts of issues taking turns to dominate his thoughts. The main issue was, of course, Kenny's imminent arrival to the Cartman household. He knew that his mom wouldn't mind but, if she did, he'd whine his ass off until she submitted. Cartman grinned. That tactic had worked since his early childhood and, even as he entered his teenage years, it continued to succeed. His mom was so soft - always had been and, by the looks of things, always would be. Another thing on Cartman's mind was school. After returning to school, and spending another whole day there, Cartman felt that it sucked ass more than ever. Now he had to work even harder than usual and, to make matters worse, his new teachers were total assholes. The thought of another full year in school made Cartman shudder.  
  
Unlike Cartman, Kenny wasn't feeling so much like shit. This was because, as he'd so memorably declared earlier on; after tonight, he'd be 'free'. Free of his family, and the unnecessary responsibilities they'd bestowed upon him. Kenny knew what kind of reaction to expect. His parents would be in complete shock and, more likely than not, that shock would spawn violent offspring. 'Violent offspring - like Stan's sister', he thought. Kenny chuckled a little, mildly amused by his own lame joke. His friends looked over a him, bemused. He shrugged, and went back to thinking. When he was a kid, Kenny had always been quite the comedian. But, as he and the others got older, his sex jokes became less and less amusing; until they sucked ass. Now, for instance, his sex jokes were sucking ass. As the boys neared the main street, Kenny's mind wandered back to matters of seriousness. To avoid a beating from his dad, he'd have to leave his house immediately after the announcement. He'd have to make sure that Cartman had made the necessary arrangements, too. Kenny guessed that he'd be leaving his house the following day. One more night of poverty, and then he would be 'free'…  
  
The boys were now walking down the main street. It was, as the name implied, just a long street. It was the main street of South Park because it was the longest street in town, and most of the town's buildings were erected along it. The long tarmac road, bordered by walkways, houses and shops, had been cleared by the passing cars. The pavements had been swept, and snow was piling up in the gutters. As was the case in most backwater mountain towns, the main street of South Park was hardly bustling. The odd person or two could be seen, going about their daily business; and the occasional car passed by. The residents liked it that way. Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny all lived on the main street; down the far end, in the main residential area.  
  
"Jesus Christ," Cartman began, finally breaking the silence. "We've been walking for fifteen fucking minutes, and none of you guys have said a Goddamn thing! What the Hell is up with you?!" Stan sighed, and looked over at him.  
  
"I guess we've all been thinking," he said, bluntly. Cartman shrugged, and again focussed on the street ahead of them.  
  
"What about?" He asked, looking over at Stan momentarily.  
  
"None of your business," he replied. Cartman screwed up his face.  
  
"I'm only trying to start a fucking conversation, you asshole!" He snarled. He was quiet for a few more seconds, before speaking again. "You were probably thinking about something gay… like your stupid girlfriend." Stan shot him an angry glance.  
  
"For God's sake! Grow up, Cartman," he said, lowly. Cartman growled, as they approached his house. It was a small, two-story building with a smaller garage. Both structures were painted a light green colour, and their brown tiled roofs were covered with snow. Cartman turned onto his pathway, which had been cleared, and started up towards the door.  
  
"I'll see you assholes later," he called, taking out his set of keys. He thumbed through them, picked out his front door key. Jamming it into the lock, Cartman turned it anti-clockwise until the bolt, clicking loudly, unlocked. Groaning, he pushed the brown wooden door open, removed his key, and stepped inside; disappearing from view. Stan, Kyle and Kenny continued down the road.  
  
Cartman slammed the door shut, the loud bang shaking the very foundation of the house. He took off his hat and rucksack, throwing them both to the floor like old rubbish.  
  
"I'm home, mom!" Cartman yelled up the stairs, passing them on his way to the living room. The architecture was identical to that of all other houses in South Park. The living room was a large room, leading immediately on to the kitchen. In the Cartman residence, the walls were painted yellow and a green carpet covered the floorboards like a patch of grass; littered with empty potato chip packets and candy bar wrappers. A tan brown sofa, covered in stains and worn with age, was positioned against the wall; opposite the old television set which sat on a small TV tray. Framed photos of Cartman and his mom, Liane, hung up all around the room. There were images of the two at all sorts of locations; from the Grand Canyon, to Mount Rushmore. Liane was short and thin; with brown, but greying, hair tied in a bun, and light brown eyes. In all of the photos, she wore the same clothes: a light blue sweater (with frilly white trimmings) and bright red trousers.  
  
Cartman trudged across the living room and straight on into the kitchen. Like all kitchens in the town, it was quite large; with a back door, leading out onto the garden, and a single window above the sink. It had green flooring and pink wallpaper, and a large wooden dining table stood in the centre of the room; which was bordered by grey worktops and cupboards. Cartman approached the refrigerator, grabbing the hefty silver door and opening it. His faced bathed in a sickly yellow light, Cartman peered inside. He rummaged around for a bit but, finding nothing but health foods and vegetables, he slammed the door shut. Groaning, he stepped aside and opened one of the cupboards, which was hanging from the wall. He grabbed a few packets of 'Cheesy Poofs' and one or two chocolate biscuits, then headed back into the living room.  
  
Cartman grabbed the TV remote from a small table, which sat next to the sofa, and slouched down onto the sofa itself. He slid off his shoes and put his feet up, switching on the television. Finding nothing of interest, he settled for some afternoon children's TV. Cartman yawned, bursting a bag of 'Cheesy Poofs' in his hands. He reached into the bag, grabbing a handful and shoving it into his gaping mouth. Cartman laughed aloud, mildly amused by the antics of the animated protagonists. Just then, Liane Cartman entered from the hallway. She looked just as she did in the photos. She was carrying plastic bags, and had probably just returned from the shop. No wonder she hadn't answered Cartman earlier. She saw him on the sofa, and smiled.  
  
"Oh, hi Hon," she said, passing him on the way to the kitchen. Cartman glanced over at her, eying the shopping bags, and smiled.  
  
"Hi, mom," he said, hauling himself up from the sofa. He followed Liane into the kitchen, shadowing her movements until she put the bags down on the table. Cartman shot over to them, and began rummaging through. His eyes lit up. "You bought 'Beefy Logs'!" He exclaimed, overjoyed. Liane, not turning from the kitchen sink, smiled.  
  
"Yeah. I forgot to buy them last time I was out," she replied, the dishes clinking and clattering as she cleaned them.  
  
"You're the best, mom!" Cartman said, grinning widely. However, he didn't feel like eating any 'Beefy Logs' at the moment, and instead headed back to the sofa. Again, he slumped down onto it and continued watching TV. He yawned, looking out of his window at 'Lapland'. At that moment, he remembered about Kenny. Cartman glanced over at his mom, who was still cleaning dishes. He cleared his throat, and prepared his best 'whining voice'. "Mom…" He began, trying to sound as convincing as possible.  
  
"What is it, Hon?" Liane asked, speaking over the clanking of the dishes.  
  
"My friend Kenny is… moving out. Can he stay with us?" Cartman asked, batting his eyebrows as his mom turned to face him.  
  
"Sure, Hon," she said, after a few seconds of silence. She dried off her hands, and began unpacking her shopping. Cartman grinned widely. His mom was so soft. He sighed loudly, putting his feet up. He grabbed another bag of 'Cheesy Poofs', and burst them open. So far, so good.  
  
----------  
  
Back in the street; Stan, Kyle and Kenny were still walking to their respective homes. Since Cartman had left, none of them had said a word. They were still deep in thought and, besides, they had nothing really to talk about. The silence was awkward, though, and Kyle decided to break it.  
  
"So," he began, without looking up from the ground, "do you guys have anything planned for tonight?" He asked, now looking over at Stan and Kenny. Kenny shrugged.  
  
"I guess I'll be packing for tomorrow," Kenny said. "I have to be ready to leave right away - I can't give my dad a chance to kick my ass!" Both he and Kyle looked over at Stan.  
  
"I don't really have anything planned," he said, sighing; his gaze falling to his feet. The three boys were fast approaching Kyle's house, which loomed in the distance. It was quite a large building, a little bigger than most others in South Park. It, like Cartman's house, had a garage separate. Both buildings were painted a pale green. A minute or so later, and Kyle was cutting onto his garden path.  
  
"See you guys later!" He called, waving to his friends. He knocked on the door and, after a few seconds, Ike opened it. He was wearing a sky blue shirt, and matching shorts. "Hey Ike," Kyle said, stepping into the house and out of view. "Why the Hell are you wearing shorts?" Ike shrugged, closing the door.  
  
Stan and Kenny were continuing on down the street. Stan lived at the far end of the main street, near to the railroad. The old railroad, which had been derelict for a long time, separated the 'generally well-off' and 'totally poor' districts of South Park. Kenny, naturally, lived on the other side from Stan. At that moment, neither Stan nor Kenny were deep in thought; but they remained silent nonetheless. After a short while, Stan decided to break the silence.  
  
"So," Stan began, looking straight ahead of him. "I'm throwing a party at the weekend, will you be coming along?" He asked, now looking over at Kenny.  
  
"Finally - the first piece of good news I've heard in weeks! Damn right I'll come along!" Kenny replied, grinning widely. He looked up, noticed that they were now approaching Stan's house. "Well, here's your place, Stan," he said.  
  
The house was similar to that of Kyle or Cartman, except that the garage was built onto the house. The building was painted a dark forest green and was laden, like everywhere else in town, with snow.  
  
"Alright. See you later, dude," Stan said, cutting onto his garden path. Kenny nodded. Stan fished his front door key out of his pocket, and slid it into the lock. He opened the door and stepped inside, disappearing from Kenny's view. Kenny, sighing, continued on past Stan's house. In the distance, he could see the railroad. As the snow fell heavier, Kenny hurried on.  
  
Eventually, he came to the railroad. As it was derelict, it was virtually in ruins. The tracks were worn and rusted, and the old fence was rotting and splintering with age. On either side of the crossing, the railroad was bordered with overgrown shrubs and general vegetation. Kenny ducked swiftly under the barrier, quickly crossing the track and entering the crappy area of town. Seeing as they were separated by the railroad, there was no slow transition from 'well-off' to 'poor'. The change in atmosphere was instantly noticeable; 'it hit you like the fist of your raging father, drunken and angry after an alcohol binge', Kenny thought. His dad had made excuses - it was 'tough love'. Yeah, right… there was a better chance of the guy actually making something of himself. The fact of the matter was that Stuart McCormick was a total asshole - a human parasite, living off governmental benefits.  
  
The 'poor' side of town was a total wreck. Scrawny, unkempt family pets roamed the mistreated streets, excreting almost at will. The roads, rarely used, were riddled with potholes; looking as if they'd been peppered with shells from an artillery gun. The walkways were battered - their slabs cracked and unlevelled, with writhing weeds wriggling up to the surface from between them. The houses themselves were shacks; more like untrustworthy bomb shelters than homes. They were, generally, constructed of objects otherwise destined for the dump. Alone, they were mounds of rubbish; together, they were hypothetical shanty towns - ancient remnants of the dark twenties.  
  
Kenny hurried through the streets; occasionally stumbling over a mound of rubble, or tripping in a pothole, as the snow fell even heavier. From a long distance, he could recognise his own home. It was one of the few buildings on the rough side that could actually be called a building - it was a construction of bricks and cement, rather than of miscellaneous bric-a-brac. It was a single-storey building; it's flaking paint was a light green shade. Old pieces of junk and furniture, including an aging and incapacitated tow-up truck, lay strewn about the lawn - the theoretical headstones of Kenny's past. As Kenny cut onto his crumbling garden path, a few mangy cats shot across ahead of him, crying out like the disgruntled tune of an inexperienced violinist. Kenny, temporarily losing his composure, jumped backwards. Regaining his calm, he slowly approached his front door and pushed it open. It wasn't locked. There was no need for locks in the 'poor' district, where everyone sung the same sad song.  
  
Kenny stepped into his house, closing the door behind him. He was in the 'main living room' of his house - and, boy, did it deserve it's label. It was the only room in the house, beside the three bedrooms. The painted walls, flaking, were a light shade of green; and a tattered, shaggy brown carpet, worn with age, lay on the floor. Against one wall was an old sofa, which stunk of alcohol, and against the other was an ancient TV - a relic of Mr McCormick's childhood. On the far wall was the 'kitchen'. This consisted of a stove, which sat alongside a rusting freezer - neither worked very well, but they were better than nothing. Kenny, wading through the empty beer bottles and 'Playboy' magazines that covered the floor, headed for his room; which was just to the right of the front door. He didn't let anyone know that he was home - they wouldn't care, anyway…  
  
Kenny arrived at his bedroom. The wooden door was old and splintering, it's thin panels cracked. The carpet, especially thick underneath, jammed it shut. Kenny kicked the foot of the door, dislodging it. He pushed it ajar, and stepped inside. His room wasn't too dissimilar to the living room. It had the same crappy carpeting, though it wasn't as worn. His walls were unpainted; riddled with cracks and peppered with cavities, beneath a thick layer of vulgar posters. Opposite the door, against the wall, was Kenny's bed. It was unmade, the tattering sheets and pillows yellowing with age. The bed sat alongside a large window, with worn orange curtains hanging from a battered rail. Beneath the window was a damaged black chest, in which all of Kenny's belongings, bar his clothes, were stored. His clothes were hanging up in a wardrobe, built into the left-hand wall.  
  
Kenny walked across his room and threw himself onto his bed, it's rickety frame bending and creaking. He sighed, looking up at his ceiling. It was leaking slightly from a crack, which had formed near the flickering light bulb. He couldn't help but grin - it was only a matter of time before he said goodbye to poverty forever. He decided to start packing right away. He hauled himself up from his bed and kneeled at the side of it. He reached under and pulled out an old suitcase, which was caked in a thick layer of dust.  
  
Kenny trudged across his room to his wardrobe. He slid the door open and reached inside, fishing out all of his trademark orange parkas and trousers, along with some pairs of socks and underwear. He walked back over to his bed, opened the suitcase he'd placed there, and stuffed the clothes inside. He reached under the mattress and fumbled around, eventually laying his hands on a collection of notes. He took them out, and stuffed his savings into his pocket. Kenny looked around, scratching his messy blond head. He didn't intend to take anything else.  
  
Suddenly, his bedroom door burst open, and his dad stumbled in. He was a tall man; with brown, but greying, hair and brown eyes. He was wearing a white string vest beneath a tattered blue jacket, and dark brown trousers. He held a half-empty beer bottle in his hand and, judging by his disorientated movement, he was drunk. His name was Stuart McCormick, and he was the biggest loser in the world. He was an ambitionless drunk, never sober, who cared for no-one but himself. Even so, he was content to sit back and waste away; never working. Stuart looked around Kenny's room, and spotted the suitcase on his bed. He pointed at it, accusingly.  
  
"What the Hell's… that?!" He asked, speaking loudly. Kenny looked at it nervously, then back at his dad.  
  
"It - it's nothing," he replied, his voice trembling. This was the worst possible scenario and, though Kenny had thought about it, he wasn't sure what to do. Stuart shook his head, his voice shaky.  
  
"N-no! It's not 'nothing'! It's a f-fucking suitcase!" He growled, leaning on the wall to keep his footing. "What the f-fuck do you… think you're doing?!" He stared at Kenny, the cold gaze of his drunken eyes unnerving him. Kenny knew what he wanted to say. Whilst the words danced impatiently on his tongue, wanting to be freed, he hadn't the strength to do so.  
  
"N-nothing!" Kenny blurted, his eyes darting around the room in search of sanctuary. Nothing. He knew that, even in his drunken state, his dad would latch on.  
  
"Do you t-think you're g-going somewhere, you little asshole?!" Stuart fumed, again pointing at Kenny. Kenny was boiling - so many different feelings bottled up inside him… he was ready to explode. "You're n-not going… anywhere! Put that suitcase away, or I'll f-fucking k-kill you!" Stuart raised his clenched fist and struck Kenny across his face. He stumbled backwards, falling onto his bed.  
  
Snap.  
  
Slowly, Kenny's hand gripped the handle of his suitcase, grasping it tightly. Within a few seconds, he had took the same handle with his other hand. The anger growing inside him, and his father still bitching, Kenny prepared to strike… In one swift motion, he swung the suitcase; allowing it's momentum to drag him along with it. With a hefty blow to the head, Kenny knocked Stuart to the ground. He leaned over him, breathing heavily.  
  
"No! You're wrong, you fucking asshole," Kenny began, his entire body and mind gripped with rage that burned like wildfire, fuelled by hatred. His voice was different. It was no longer the voice of a coward, but of a man obsessed. "I'm leaving this fucking dump, and I have a valid reason!" Stuart, beaten and groggy, looked back in shock. "All my life, you've treated me like shit. You brought me into the world, knowing damn well that you wouldn't be able to cope!" Stuart's eyes widened, as Kenny words washed over him like a sea of hurt. "You know why?" Kenny asked, his voice filled with hate. "Because you're nothing but a loser - a drunken nobody who can't even hold a fucking job! You rely on ME to support you, but I've had enough - I'm letting you fall." Kenny was now snivelling, his eyes filling with sour tears. "If I could renounce my 'family' name, then I would. It's the fucking end."  
  
Kenny stepped over his dad and stormed out of the room. He walked into the living room, knocking over the coffee table in his rage. He opened the front door and, his suitcase in hand, stepped out into the snow. He slammed the door violently behind him. The tears flowing freely down his face like rivers of saltwater, tasting like blood in his mouth, Kenny started off down the street. He passed the 'headstones' and, despite the pain, he smiled. He'd made a statement; he'd abandoned the past, and it was time to start afresh.  
  
----------  
  
Meanwhile, in the Marsh household; Randy Marsh, Stan's father, was watching TV. He was sitting on the forest green sofa, which was positioned opposite the television set. The living room was similar to that of the Cartman residence. The walls were painted a bright purple, and the neat, tidy carpet was a light shade of brown. Several family photos hung around the room, accompanied by seemingly random images of picturesque natural environments.  
  
Randy was a man with a relatively average build, just a little larger than his son. He had jet-black hair which, unlike the hair of Stan, was not natural - it was dyed. He had a matching moustache, and dark brown eyes. He was wearing a light blue shirt and dark blue trousers. Randy Marsh was a geologist, with a degree in his chosen profession. Other than that, he was just your 'average Joe'; with an average family and an average income. He was watching a TV stand-up comedian, and was laughing at his antics and jokes. Just then, Stan came into the room, a look of concern on his face. Randy noticed him.  
  
"Hey, son," he said, smiling. Stan smiled back, half-heartedly.  
  
"Hey, dad," he replied. Randy's gaze returned to the TV, and he erupted in laughter again. Stan sighed, walking over to the sofa. He scratched his head, thinking, before speaking. "Dad, can we talk?" He asked. Randy looked over at him.  
  
"I guess so," he said, taking the TV remote. He lowered the volume down, so that the comedian could barely be heard. "Come sit down," he said, patting his thigh. Stan raised an eyebrow.  
  
"It - it's okay, dad - I'll sit here." Stan sat down alongside Randy, clearing his throat. He was about to speak, when his dad interrupted him.  
  
"Now, Stanley, I know what you're gonna say," he spoke quietly, sounding a little concerned. Stan was a little bemused, but allowed his dad to continue. "We've had this conversation many times before… and the answer's 'no'."  
  
"Huh?" Stan blurted, more confused than ever. "Wait, you don't even know what I'm - " Randy interrupted again.  
  
"No! Now you listen to me, Stanley!" Randy began, speaking loudly and sternly. "I've told you time and time again - drugs are nothing but trouble! They're terrible for your health, and they screw you up both physically AND mentally! I'm not giving you MY money, so that you can blow it on drugs! The answer's 'no'!" Stan was confused, and desperate to put the record straight - this wasn't about drugs and, besides, he wasn't at all interested in them.  
  
"No, this isn't about drugs," Stan blurted. Randy looked confused.  
  
"It's not?" He asked. Stan shook his head furiously.  
  
"No. I'm not at all interested in drugs; I never have been and I never will be," he said, still shaking his head. Randy looked back, a contemplative look on his face.  
  
"Then…" He trailed off, then shrugged. "Aw, I must've been dreaming!" A smile again returned to his face. "What's this about, then, son?" Stan was silent for a few seconds, deep in thought, before clearing his throat.  
  
"I want to… ask you a few things," he began. Randy nodded.  
  
"Sure. Fire away," he said, grinning. Stan took a deep breath, a little nervous.  
  
"How old were you and mom… when you first… had sex?" He could feel his face reddening already. He felt so embarrassed, asking his dad such a question. Randy thought for a moment.  
  
"I don't know…" He began, trailing off into thought. "We were about your age, I guess." Stan's stomach tightened.  
  
"Right. When - when was it?" He asked. Randy looked to be thinking. He clicked his fingers, as if trying to spark the memory as you would a campfire. He stopped suddenly and grinned.  
  
"Oh, yeah! It was at one of my parties," he said. He laughed, reminiscing the night. "Yep, that's right. My parent's were out of town for the weekend, and I threw this HUGE party!" Suddenly, Stan felt under incredible pressure. "We'd been together for quite a while, two or three years, but I guess we were really afraid to talk about… sex, and stuff." Stan sighed, a little relieved.  
  
"So… it's normal, then?" He asked. "It's normal for a couple to be… nervous, about stuff like that?" Randy nodded, smiling.  
  
"Yeah, it sure is." He replied. He looked straight at Stan, observing his growing smile. "I asked your grandpa the exact same thing, and he told me to talk to your mom…" Randy trailed off.  
  
"And?" Stan asked, listening intently.  
  
"So, at the party, me and your mom went upstairs. We talked for a little while and…" He trailed off again, then smiled. "Well, you get the idea. After we spoke for a while, we realised that we were both comfortable with everything." By this time Stan, though he was completely unaware of it, was smiling widely.  
  
----------  
  
Cartman was sitting on his sofa, watching the TV. His cat, 'Mr Kitty', was curled up on his lap. She was now aging; her sight was failing and her fur was malting. 'Fat Abbot' reruns, from a long time ago, were showing on the television screen. Cartman, stuffing a handful of 'Cheesy Poofs' into his mouth, laughed heartily. Just then, there was a knock at the door. He groaned, moving 'Mr Kitty' to one side and hauling himself to his feet. He trudged over to the door and, as he opened it, recoiled in shock.  
  
"Kenny?!" Cartman blurted, staring at his friend. Cartman moved aside, letting him into the house. Kenny pulled down the hood of his parka, revealing his face. It was lightly bruised from his dad's punch, and his eyes were red from his tears. "I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow?" Cartman said. Kenny nodded.  
  
"Y-yeah, me too." He put his suitcase next to the door, his voice a little shaky. "I got back, me and my dad had a fight and, well, I kinda snapped." Cartman nodded. "Let's just say it was necessary… you don't mind, do you?" Cartman shook his head.  
  
"No, 'course not, dude!" He said, turning to the staircase. "Mom! Kenny's here now!" He called. Hearing a faint 'okay, Hon', Cartman grinned. He motioned for Kenny to follow him, as he began ascending the stairs. Kenny picked up his suitcase and followed suite. "I can see that you forgot your sleeping bag," Cartman said, looking back at Kenny. He nodded. "It's no big deal - you can use mine." Cartman and Kenny walked along the landing, approaching Cartman's room. Cartman pushed the door open, and the two stepped inside.  
  
Cartman's room was quite large; with a neat brown carpet and light purple wallpaper - a similar colour scheme to Stan's living room. Against the near wall was a large bed, and against the far wall was a desk and office chair. A large window, looking out onto the darkening snowy main street, was on the right-hand side of the room. A wardrobe, the same as all others, was built into the left-hand wall. Cartman pointed at it.  
  
"My sleeping bag's in there." Kenny approached the wardrobe, sliding the door open. "Just put your clothes in there, too; but make sure not to touch any of mine - I don't want any Goddamn poor ass disease." Kenny looked back at him and chuckled, reaching into the wardrobe and pulling out Cartman's sleeping bag. He laid it out on the floor. Sighing, relaxed, Kenny lay down on it.  
  
"By the way, are you going to Stan's party this weekend?" Kenny asked, looking over at Cartman. He looked a little bemused.  
  
"Huh? I didn't know that hippy was having a party…" He said, speaking quietly. Kenny nodded and continued.  
  
"Yeah - he told me before." He said. Cartman shrugged it off.  
  
"I guess he'll tell me tomorrow," he began. "Who's going?" He asked. Kenny thought for a moment, then shrugged.  
  
"I'm not too sure. I think that Kyle and Wendy are definitely going, 'cause they're staying overnight. I'm going, and I think they'll be a lot of others there, too - y'know, Craig, Clyde…" he trailed off. Cartman looked to be deep in thought.  
  
"Wendy's staying over? Ooh, boy - that'll be interesting! I'll be there!" Cartman thought for a moment, then grinned. "And I'll find a way to stay over, too!" Kenny laughed, and Cartman pulled himself up from his bed, heading for the door. "I'm gonna go watch some more Fat Abbot, you coming?" He asked. Kenny nodded, rising to his feet.  
  
"Sure!" He said, grinning. Cartman motioned for him to follow.  
  
"Then come on, you poor piece of crap!" Kenny shot him an angry glance, and then followed him out of the room. Cartman slammed the door behind them.  
  
==========  
  
Closing A/N  
  
Okay, that's the third chapter of 'High School Escapades' - complete! It's longer than chapter one, but falls just short of chapter two length. Also, I know some of you might think that I exaggerated the poverty of South Park's 'poor' district; but I had a picture to paint, and a point to make. Anyway, that's all from me… for now. Until next time, people!  
  
Oh, I almost forgot: don't forget to review! 


	4. A New Life

Opening A/N  
  
Here is Chapter 4 of 'High School Escapades', entitled 'A New Life'. At first, I was planning on taking a break from this particular fiction; but I can't - I'm totally hooked on this thing! Please note, however, that I probably won't have much free time on my hands over the next few months - so updates may be few and far between. 'May be', that is.  
  
Anyway, I hope you all like this chapter. Don't forget to review!  
  
==========  
  
Tuesday morning. Since the return of the school year, greeted with giant discontent, a day had passed; and a second loomed on the horizon, the buzz of the weekend quickly growing faint. The sun's rays, piercing as they were, were unable to breach the thick combination of cloud and fog that masked the morning in blandness. The snow, cold and crisp as the mountain air, piled up; and a grey boredom stirred in the streets. The outlook for the day was grim, and the weather forecast reflected this. Even the birds, sitting silently in the trees, saw no bright side to a morning with 'shit' written all over it. It was around '7:00 AM', and everyone in South Park began to rise. There was very little shining to be done, though.  
  
This was not the case, however, with Kenny McCormick. He was, despite the dire day that hung ahead of him, happier than he'd ever been in his life. The night before, he had left everything. His 'home', his 'family'… his past. He'd moved in with the Cartman family the previous night, and had slept on the floor of Eric Cartman's bedroom. He was the living epitome of a 'new leaf', freshly turned and ready for the dew of tomorrow. At that very moment in time; Kenny was encased in a sleeping bag, almost like a caterpillar in a cocoon - only awake. His weary eyes gazed up at the ceiling. No cracks, no leaks, no flickering light bulb… nothing but sanctuary - sanctuary from the Hell that had eaten up seventeen long years of his life. Lying on the floor, with very little padding, he was quite uncomfortable; but a warm sea of satisfaction washed over him.  
  
Kenny looked around the room, one of many in the Cartman household; this was his new home. His gaze, seemingly unable to settle, continued to travel around the room. Eventually, it settled on Cartman. His hulking figure was slumped on the bed, breathing heavily and, occasionally, shifting positions. Eric Cartman and his mom, Ms Liane Cartman; they were his new family. Kenny sighed, smiling, pleasant thoughts of his future with the Cartman family flooding the plains of his mind; this was his new life. He rolled onto his side and, feeling almost blissful, began to drift back off to sleep.  
  
"Eric, Hon!" The voice of Ms Cartman, calling up from the kitchen, startled Kenny. "Eric! You're going to be late for school!" Cartman began to writhe around on his bed, his flaying leg kicking the duvet off from on top of him. It slipped over the side of the bed and landed on Kenny, who immediately sprung upright. Cartman, too, as if given animation by a lightning bolt, shot up from his semi-slumber.  
  
"No! Uncle Jesse! No!" Cartman screamed, an expression of both fear and shock slapped across his fat, sweating face. He looked around the room, and could feel the heat emanating from his reddening cheeks. He looked at Kenny, who was attempting to contain his laughter, and his expression darkened. "What the fuck are you looking at?!"  
  
"It's okay, dude," Kenny began. "There's a history of sexual abuse in my family, too." Cartman raised an eyebrow, and then shot Kenny a confused glance. He opened his mouth, probably to make some smart ass comment, and then fell silent.  
  
"Eric!" Ms Cartman again called up the staircase. "C'mon, Hon - you're going to be late for school again!" Cartman, looking pissed off, finally responded.  
  
"Okay! Okay! I'm fucking coming! For God's sake!" Cartman yelled, jumping out of bed. The whole house shook, and the window panes seemed to rattle, as Cartman's feet hit the floor. Kenny laughed a little, stretching his arms and yawning.  
  
Cartman rubbed his eyes and shook his head, as if trying to scatter the final remnants of last night's dream. Yawning and scratching his behind, Cartman trundled across the room and over to the wardrobe, passing Kenny on the way. He slid the wardrobe door open, rummaging through his clothes and fishing out his usual attire. Very slowly, Cartman slung his clothes over his shoulder and trudged out of the room.  
  
Kenny, too, slipped out of his sleeping bag. Just as Cartman had, he hurried over to the wardrobe and took out his usual clothes; which he had thrown down there the previous night. He sped out of the room, seeing Cartman about to reach for the knob of the bathroom door. Kenny quickly skipped ahead of him and beat him to the inside. He slammed the door in his face, bolting it from the other side. Cartman groaned loudly, stomping his foot on the ground, ready to throw a tantrum.  
  
"Goddamn it!" He growled, kicking the foot of the bathroom door. "You better hurry up in there, or I swear I'll send you back to the shack, asshole!" Cartman heard Kenny laugh it off.  
  
"I haven't had a proper shower in years, so I'm not promising anything!" Kenny replied, undressing. He switched on the shower, which began to hum steadily. Hot water trickled from the head, like rainwater from broken guttering, as a choking steam filled the room. Kenny stepped into the shower cubicle, the warm water running through his dirtied blond hair; bringing out it's natural golden tone.  
  
On the other side of the door, Cartman slouched down against the wall, his clothes on his lap. He yawned loudly, scratching his messy brown head. He pounded the foot of the door with his fist.  
  
"Hurry up in there, Kenny!" Cartman grunted, his voice shaky from his lack of sleep. He groaned aloud, his face sinking into his hands. If he and Kenny were going to be living together from now on, Cartman figured that he'd have to make a few changes. First off, he'd have his mom wake Kenny up even earlier than usual. That way, he'd have finished in the shower before Cartman's usual wake-up time. Cartman hunched over, as if trying to lie down and rest on his own body. He was ready to go back to sleep…  
  
Just then, the bathroom door opened and Kenny stepped out. His golden hair was wet and dripping onto his clothes, which he was carrying in his arms. His lower body was wrapped in a damp white towel, and a puddle of water was forming at his feet. Kenny grinned at Cartman, motioning over his shoulder and into the bathroom.  
  
"I left the water running for you, fat boy!" He said, his grin widening. Cartman shot him an angry glance. He heaved himself to his feet, and passed Kenny on his way into the bathroom.  
  
"Thanks, you poor piece of shit," he replied, slamming the door in Kenny's face. He locked it from the inside, hanging his clothes up on a nearby peg. He took off his boxers, struggling to heave his bulky figure into the shower cubicle. The water was still running, and the steam had formed into a mist, obscuring Cartman's vision like a thick fog. He closed the door of the cubicle over, it's entire frame rattling. Allowing the hot water to sooth him, he sighed loudly.  
  
Back in Cartman's bedroom, Kenny had just finished drying off. He was standing in the middle of the room, dressed only in his thermo, boxers and socks; admiring his grinning reflection in the mirror, which was mounted on Cartman's wardrobe door. His hair was a beautiful golden blond, and his entire body was shining; he was without a spot of dirt. The life in Kenny's eyes said it all. The Kenny McCormick of old was dead. He was dead and rotting in his bedroom, murdered by his own father's drunken hands the night before… hypothetically speaking, of course.  
  
He walked across the room to Cartman's bed, where he'd laid his clothes down earlier. He took up his trousers, stepping into them and pulling them up to his waist. He zipped and buttoned them up, and then picked up his trademark orange parka. He slipped it on, but without actually fastening it up. Kenny returned to the mirror, again admiring himself. Like his body and his mind, his clothes were perfectly clean - for they had been washed the previous night.  
  
Just then, the bedroom door swung open and Cartman stumbled into the room. He was fully clothed, having obviously dressed in the bathroom, in his usual attire. His hair was still damp in places, and had dripped onto his shoulders, leaving wet patches. He was carrying a white towel, which he lifted to his head. He rubbed his scalp roughly, drying his hair, before throwing the towel dismissively to the floor. The towel hit the carpet with a damp thud, dirtied water immediately leaking onto it. Cartman shook his head furiously, shuddering, before grinning widely.  
  
"C'mon, Kenny," he began, quite excitedly. "My mom has made breakfast." Cartman hurried out of the room, and his heavy footsteps shook the house as he descended the stairs. Kenny chuckled to himself. Living with Cartman was going to be, well, pretty funny. Sighing, he walked over to his sleeping bag, which was spread out on the floor. Leaning over, Kenny rolled the bag up into a soft cylinder and set it aside. Yawning, he scratched the back of his head and walked out of the dim bedroom, closing the door securely behind him.  
  
Kenny immediately noticed an insane, but incredibly appetizing, aroma in the air. It drifted up from the kitchen and, drawn to the source, Kenny followed the scent and descended the stairs. He passed through the living room, ignoring the early morning television, and walked into the kitchen. Laying his gaze upon the table, Kenny gasped and his eyes widened.  
  
The table, piled high with food, was on the verge of collapse. It's surface could barely be seen, as it was buried beneath a few dozen large plates, bowls and pitchers. Pancakes towered high up to the ceiling, drenched in butter and all kinds of sugars and syrups. Alongside the pancakes were similarly-sized towers of waffles and toasted bread, as well as mountains of other traditional breakfast foods. Amongst the plates and bowls also sat pitchers, filled with coffees, teas and fruit juices. It was a mouth-watering concoction, the likes of which Kenny had never seen before.  
  
Cartman was already sitting at the table, a massive plate of a greasy pancakes and waffles in front of him. His chair almost collapsed beneath him, as Cartman stuffed his fat face quickly and incessantly. Ms Cartman also sat at the table, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. She was reading some kind of magazine. Cartman looked up at Kenny.  
  
"What's the matter, asshole? Are you just gonna stand and stare, or are you gonna actually eat something?!" He asked, raising his voice a little. Kenny shook his head viciously, snapping himself out of his thoughts.  
  
"Huh?" Kenny nodded, pulling out and taking a seat. He was absolutely amazed by the amount of food in front of him. It was a vast amount, and was probably the most food he'd ever seen on any one table. Cartman looked over at Kenny, noticing his trace-like state, and sighed. He took a plate of waffles, and slid it in under Kenny's nose. He recoiled, surprised.  
  
"Here," Cartman began, pointing to the plate. "If you wanna start a new life, then you could do worse than gain a few pounds… and make up for seventeen years of malnutrition. Go on." He pushed the plate further towards Kenny, who chuckled a little.  
  
For the next ten minutes or so, the two boys ate breakfast in silence. Cartman, unlike Kenny, ate as if there was no tomorrow. He must've downed about thirty pancakes and twenty waffles, before he decided to give his tired jaw a rest. Covered in crumbs and grease, Cartman leaned back in his chair. He sighed loudly, feeling pretty content. Ms Cartman had poured Kenny a cup of coffee, and decided to strike up a conversation with her guest.  
  
"So, Kenny," she began, looking up from her magazine. "Why is it that you decided to leave home?" Kenny thought for a moment, then began to talk.  
  
"My parents are total assholes," Kenny said, bluntly. Ms Cartman, a little surprised, nodded slightly. "They're both alcoholics, and neither of them work. They made me get a job, and my wages kept them going. My dad pushed me around a lot, too." Kenny took a sip of his coffee, and then continued. "I guess I just had enough."  
  
"Oh," was all Ms Cartman could muster. She knew that Kenny's family was poor, but she had no idea that they pushed him about, too. A sympathetic smile crossed her face. "Well, you're welcome to live here with us, Kenny."  
  
"Thanks a lot, Ms Cartman," Kenny said, smiling gratefully. Ms Cartman nodded, then went back to reading her magazine. Cartman glanced over at the clock, which read '8:27 AM', and groaned loudly.  
  
"Aw, fuck!" He grabbed the table, using it's weight to drag himself to his feet. He brushed the crumbs from his jacket, and knocked on the table. "Hey, Kenny, it's time to go." Kenny, a little startled, look up.  
  
"Alright, alright - give me a chance!" He groaned, gulping down the remainder of his coffee. He wiped his mouth off on his parka sleeve, and stood up. He zipped his parka up tightly, then reached into his pockets to pick out his gloves. Cartman trudged grumpily across the kitchen to the coat rack, which stood alongside the back door. He took his hat and gloves, slipping them on. Now wrapped up fully, looking like a large pig cloaked in a red blanket, Cartman opened the back door. Snow blew in from outside, sprinkling the kitchen floor with a cold white dust.  
  
"I'm going, mom!" Cartman called, though Ms Cartman was sitting only a few strides away. She smiled and nodded.  
  
"See you later, boys," she said, taking a further sip of her coffee, her eyes again falling to the magazine in her hands. Kenny followed Cartman towards the door, turning and waving.  
  
"See you later, Liane," he said, smiling. Ms Cartman nodded and smiled back, though not looking up from the magazine. Cartman and Kenny stepped out into the back garden; closing the back door behind them, and so blocking out the weather which was invading the kitchen.  
  
The back garden was basic, as were most in South Park, and was enclosed in a varnished wooden fence. A small stone patio, recently cleaned, sat and shone by the back door. It lead onto a long patch of grass, the green blades buried beneath by a quilt of cold, which was bordered on either side by snow-sprinkled shrubberies. Miscellaneous garden furniture, including a table and parasol with chairs, lay unused at the far end of the garden. Cartman and Kenny, following the straighten stone path, headed out of the back garden. They found themselves walking alongside the front lawn, then out onto the main street.  
  
The main street was a sombre scene. The sky was a dismal tapestry of deep grey patches and ominously dark clouds. A foul grey slush, a combination of snow and rainwater, was slopped about the streets like a shallow Arctic lake. The occasional vehicle sped down the long road, spraying passers-by with unpleasant slime. Those few people that walked the streets did so without any enthusiasm. Like ghosts, with their gloved hands in their pockets, they passed through the early-morning mist; depressed frowns pasted grimly over a usually jovial smile. The birds, an icy wind whipping their treetop homes, did not sing on a day so dull.  
  
Cartman and Kenny, ankle-deep in the grey slush, started down the main street. The shops were beginning to open, and their unenthusiastic keepers arrived to unlock. They slid up their shutters, which rolled onto their rails like heavy-metal blinds, their iron clatters ringing out into the damp mountain air like the macabre tolls of funeral bell. Such was air of depression that hung about South Park, they might as well have been.  
  
Behind the orange parka, however, it was a different morning altogether. Gone was the chilling wind that rattled the rooftops. Gone was the sombre grey slush that splattered the sidewalks, caking the morning in gloom. These were, after all, only physical factors. Though they often directly affected a person's mental constitution, they could be ignored by those with a good enough state of mind. Kenny had, since the afternoon before, built a stronghold in his own mind. It was a stronghold of defiance and confidence, built upon a foundation of justice. After setting things right with his family, he had began to erect it. Now it was unbreakable; and Kenny, encased in the walls, was unreachable. No physicality could alter his mindset…  
  
"Kenny! Kenny!" Cartman yelled, almost unable to reach him. Kenny shook his head vigorously, dragging himself painfully out of his imaginary fortress.  
  
"Huh?!" He looked around the main street, realising that he had fallen behind Cartman. Cartman was a good few strides ahead, looking back at Kenny with a bemused and aggravated expression on his fat face.  
  
"What the Hell's up with you, you poor piece of crap?!" Cartman asked, sounding quite annoyed. "Hurry up, or that fat bitch will leave without us!" He began to wade on through the slush, heading for the vale at the end of the main street.  
  
"You're right," Kenny said, running to catch up. "But you're gonna have to stop calling me a 'poor piece of crap' sooner or later!" Cartman looked over his shoulder, as a small smile crept across his face.  
  
"Kenny, you'll always be a 'poor piece of crap' in my eyes," he said, grinning. Kenny shot him an angry glance, and then smiled himself.  
  
"Yeah? Well you'll always be a 'fucking fat ass' in mine!" He said, also grinning. Cartman shot Kenny an angry glance of his own, but then shrugged it off. The two continued down the main street, passing just about every house, shop and service imaginable along the way. The rainbow colours of these buildings, unlike the morning before, were now visible; if not dampened by the slush.  
  
After a short while of walking, Cartman and Kenny reached a fork in the road. The road to the left led out of South Park, on to Denver; and the road to the right was the vale. Unlike the morning before, it was no longer laden with beautiful, crisp white snow. Instead, it was soggy with the grey slush. The tall ferns, dank in their miserable, monotonous lines; shook in the violent wind. At the far end of the vale, the bus-stop stood in it's never-changing position. Cartman and Kenny could make out Stan and Kyle, standing and talking at the bus-stop. The two picked up a little speed, hurrying to meet their friends.  
  
"Hey, Kenny," Stan and Kyle said, simultaneously, as Kenny arrived alongside them. Cartman, after a few seconds, followed. He plopped to the ground, breathing heavily; his face red from the short jog. "Hey, fat ass."  
  
"Hey, guys," Kenny replied, smiling. Cartman, looking like a beached whale in the slush, shot the two an angry glance. He acknowledged their presence with a simple nod, as he was far too tired to talk.  
  
"You're a little late," Kyle said, looking over at his friends. "You weren't out with Wendy as well, were you?" He asked. Stan appeared unimpressed at Kyle's remark, but let it pass.  
  
"N-no…" Cartman began, heaving himself to his feet. His jacket was greying and damp from the slush, and his face was still red. "T-that… poor p-piece of… crap took too long… in the shower…" He said, motioning towards Kenny, whilst trying to wipe the slush from his jacket.  
  
"Huh? But I thought Kenny wasn't moving in until tonight?" Stan said, both he and Kyle looking a little bemused. Kenny was quick to clear up.  
  
"Yeah, well, things didn't go exactly according to plan," he began, looking a little uncomfortable. "My dad found out, and we had a fight."  
  
"A verbal fight, or a actual physical fight?" Kyle asked, looking quizzically over at Kenny. Kenny shrugged.  
  
"Both, I suppose. He was shouting for a bit, and then he hit me; so I hit him back… with my suitcase." He said, grinning a little. Stan and Kyle both looked amused. "Then I made my big exit, and showed up at Cartman's place."  
  
"Let me get this straight," Kyle began, smiling unsurely. "Your dad was bitching, so you hit him with a suitcase?!" Kenny nodded. "Man… I bet that shut him up!" Kenny nodded again, and Kyle laughed a little.  
  
Just then, the school bus appeared at the end of the vale. It shot, like a sickly yellow rocket on wheels, down towards the bus-stop. It screeched to a halt, the thick black tires whipping some slush up from the road. The slush was sprayed up onto the sidewalk, soaking the four boys, as the bus doors hissed and slid open.  
  
"Aw, fucking weak!" Cartman groaned, spitting some slush out from his mouth. His clothes, and those of the three others, were dripping with the icy matter. He thrashed his arms about, attempting to dispose of as much of the stuff as he could. Ms Crabtree looked on, unimpressed, from the driver's seat.  
  
"C'mon, we're running late!" She growled, once again bearing her mouth of very few rotting yellow teeth. Stan rolled his eyes. Everyday, for the past nine years, that was all he and his friends ever heard.  
  
"Give us a chance, you fat bitch…" Stan said, half-muttering. Ms Crabtree's eyes widened and, as she jerked violent in her seat, the bird in her hair fluttered about.  
  
"WHAT did you say?!" Crabtree yelled, the foul smell of her breath hanging in the air like the thick fog that had swallowed South Park. Stan again rolled his eyes, and then cleared his throat.  
  
"I said… 'give us a chance, you fat bitch'," he repeated himself, this time much louder and more clearly. Ms Crabtree growled and the four boys, totally dismissing her, climbed onto the bus and the aisle. The doors, hissing, slammed over; almost catching Kenny's foot. The bus began to pick up speed, travelling down the icy road of the vale. The boys headed for the back of the bus, the slush dripping from their soaking clothes; leaving a dirty, murky trail of water along the aisle.  
  
Stan and Kyle, dripping, slouched down on the empty back seat; their soggy clothes squelching as they did. The back seat, the largest of the lot, stretched from one side of the bus to the other. It could comfortably hold four or five people but, seeing as Cartman and Kenny had sat elsewhere, was far from full capacity. The two had sat just ahead of Kyle and Stan, on a regular seat. Stan lay back, yawning, and titled his head. He looked wearily out of the window at the ferns, which seemed to fly by, as the bus sped along. Kyle, not sitting directly next to Stan, yawned. He closed his eyes, trying to rest. This was difficult, however, as the bus swerved on the twisting mountain roads.  
  
The journey passed without event for quite a while, picking up Craig and his friends. The bus ground to the third halt of the journey, stopping to collect Wendy and Bebe. Bebe was not around, so Wendy headed immediately for the back of the bus. She sat in the large space that existed between Stan and Kyle, smiling widely.  
  
"Hey, Stan," she said. Stan a little surprised, jumped up in his seat and spun around; drawn quite gently from his daydream world. He turned to face Wendy, smiling.  
  
"Hey, Wendy," he returned her greeting, his smile widening. He leaned over and give her a quick kiss; before returning to, and leaning back in, his seat. "How has your morning been?"  
  
"Pretty crappy," she began, sighing. "I overslept, the shower broke, my cereal was stale, I lost my beret, and then I forgot my physics project - I had to go back home for it." She tilted her head, looking out of the back window. "When I got up and saw the weather, I couldn't help but feel like this was gonna be a bad day…"  
  
"Me too," Stan said, nodding. "Or, I did feel like this was gonna be a bad day, at least. When I saw you, I felt a whole lot better." Wendy smiled.  
  
"Oh, that's so sweet, Stan," she said, very sincerely. She leaned in towards him, and the two kissed again. Only a small kiss, of course - they didn't want to make a show. Stan grinned.  
  
"And to think… I thought that today was gonna be a bad day!" He said, smiling. He lay back in his seat, sighing loudly. It was a pleasant sigh, rather than a sigh of aggravation or annoyance.  
  
After picking up Tweek, the bus continued it's journey through the murky streets of South Park. It finally came to the tall iron gates of South Park High School which, in the low-lying morning mist, made it look somewhat like a prison. Slowing down, the bus turned into the parking lot, eventually coming to a complete stop. The doors hissed, unfolding and opening. Ms Crabtree, in her usual manner, yelled and screamed for the students to get off the bus. Along with the others, Stan and Wendy got to their feet. Stan looked over at Kyle, who had fallen asleep beside him.  
  
"Kyle! Wake up, dude!" Stan said, shaking his friend. Kyle's eyes fluttered open and he looked around the bus, somewhat disorientated. He groaned, realising where he was.  
  
"Thanks," Kyle said, bluntly. He hauled himself to his feet and adjusted his hat, which had fallen lopsidedly to the side of his head; revealing a little of burning auburn hair. His red mop looked somewhat mild in the dankness of the morning. He, Stan and Wendy walked along the aisle, climbing down out of the bus and into the sea of students which had gathered outside. Literally milliseconds later; the doors of the bus closed quickly, as if the mechanism that operated them had decided to slam them shut. Kyle stretched and yawned.  
  
"Oh, man…" he said, speaking through a loud yawn. "I can't believe I fell asleep on the bus - the weekend must really be catching up with me…" He stumbled, quite groggily, over to where Stan and Wendy were standing. He swiftly slipped in between them, putting an arm around each. He looked at Stan, and then at Wendy. "Did I miss anything interesting, you guys?" He asked, grinning. Stan shrugged.  
  
"Nah, not really," he said, shaking his head. "Just us sharing a conversation about how crappy our mornings have been, and the odd kiss or two." Just then, an electronic bell rung out into the bleakness of the morning, signalling the commencing of the school day. With that, just about every student in the yard began to make their way towards the main entrance. Kyle, Stan and Wendy were amongst them; though they might as well have been lost in the thousand-strong ocean of bodies. They flowed, like the liquid they resembled, into the building. Like a vast army of ants, the students made their way through the cramped corridors and to their respective homerooms. Kyle, Stan and Wendy, shortly followed by Cartman and Kenny, arrived at room twenty-eight. Kyle turned the doorknob, pushing the door ajar. The room, because of the weather outside, was not very well lit by the sun. The electronic lamps were switched on inside, their artificial light shimmering on the frosted glass pane of the door.  
  
Kyle, Stan, Wendy, Cartman and Kenny stepped inside. The room was empty and, as was always the case, unchanged from the previous day. The five students sat in their usual positions; alongside each other, on the back row. Within a few seconds, the door burst open and the rest of the students spilled into the room; talking amongst themselves. They all took their respective seats, continuing their conversations whilst sat down. Tweek tip-toed cautiously through the door, looking incredibly insecure. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were expecting to see his doom everywhere that he looked. He continued to his seat, which was at the front of the room, and sat down slowly.  
  
"Oh, man…" Tweek spoke quietly, as if trying to hide himself from something. "Oh, man…" He continued to repeat himself, now beginning to rock back and forth in his seat. A few kids were taking notice of this, small smiles creeping across their faces. "Too much pressure… too much pressure, man! Argh!" Tweek shot up from his seat, looking traumatised. Butters, looking over from across Jordan and Pip, looked a little concerned.  
  
"Uh, are you o-okay, Tweek?" He asked, leaning forward from his desk. Tweek looked back, now shaking furiously. "M-maybe you should have a drink of coffee, o-or something?" Butters suggested. Tweek nodded, taking a sip of coffee from his flask. Almost immediately, he seemed to calm down. He took a deep breath, and then sighed; returning to his seat. Cartman looked on from the back of the class, an expression of both bemusement and confusion on his face.  
  
"What the fuck's wrong with him?!" He asked, though not really speaking to anyone in particular. Kenny, sitting between Cartman and Stan, shrugged. "He's acting gayer than usual." Stan, overhearing this, also shrugged.  
  
"It must be all the talk of exams… and pressure. You know how Tweek is with pressure." He said, looking over at the jittery teenager. He was again looked about the room, his anxiety already returning. Suddenly, Mr Garrison burst into the room, causing Tweek to jolt violently in his seat.  
  
Garrison, as was the case the previous day, was wearing a light green jacket and a pair of dark brown trousers. His thin, squared spectacles bobbled on his nose, as he strolled casually across the front of the class. He dumped a stack of papers on the desk, and then took up a reddish-brown booklet. He cleared his throat.  
  
"Okay, students," he began, opening the booklet, flicking through the pages and adjusting his spectacles. "I'm just going to take a quick register…" Garrison's scanned the room, taking a note of any absences in his register. After a minute or so, he slammed the booklet shut, placing it on the desk with the other papers. He walked to the front of the class, taking a piece of chalk and beginning to write on the blackboard. After a few seconds, he moved aside, revealing the words "Class Presidency". This conjured up a little restlessness amongst the students.  
  
"Okay, students," Garrison again began, now turning to face the class. "As you all know, yesterday was the first day of your final year at South Park High. Just like any other year; you'll all be running, and voting for, class president." Butters raised his hand. "Yes, Butters?"  
  
"D-do we have to, sir?" He asked. His question confused Garrison, who took a moment or two to think about it.  
  
"What do you mean, 'do we have to', Butters?" He asked, eventually decided to counter with a question of his own. Butters cleared his throat, twiddling his thumbs absentmindedly.  
  
"It's just that, well, the same p-people get presidency every y-year. Couldn't you just, um, go a-ahead give it to the m-most sensible person?" Garrison sighed.  
  
"Of course not, Butters," he began, speaking sternly. "The idea is that everyone gets to run for class presidency; even if that person has no chance in Hell of getting it - like Eric Cartman, for instance."  
  
"Ay!" Cartman barked, looking up from his desk to shoot Garrison an angry glance. Garrison shrugged.  
  
"It's the truth, Eric," he began. "You've just as much chance of becoming the class president as you do the American President." There was a brief silence, as Garrison reviewed his statement in his head, before he spoke again. "In fact, you probably have a better chance of becoming the American President; as nobody in this class would vote for you."  
  
"Fucking queer…" Cartman growled, speaking beneath his breath. His angry gaze fell to the desk, and his clenched fists which rested on it. Garrison took a pile of small blue papers from his own desk, clearing his throat.  
  
"Okay, students," he began, beginning to distribute the papers. "Here are the 'class presidency forms'. I want you all to fill them in, and then hand them to me on your way out." Cartman, still pissed off, looked down at his form. It was small and blue, with a few lines of black text at the head. He read it in his head…  
  
'Please write down the name of the classmate you have… n-no… n-nom…' Cartman struggled to read the word. 'Nominate… n-nominated, and state why you think they would make the ideal president. Your vote will remain a-anon… a-anonym'… "Argh, screw it!" He groaned, and began to scrunch up the form. He stopped, however, when an idea hit him…  
  
"So," Stan began, turning to face Kyle. "Who'd you nominate, dude?" He asked. Kyle shrugged, taking next to no time to answer.  
  
"The usual - Wendy, dude," he began. "She's really, really responsible… and besides; she's been the class president for the past few years, and she always does a good job." Stan nodded.  
  
"Same here," he began. "And for the same reasons…" Stan trailed off, and then grinned. "As well as the fact that's she's my girlfriend - she'd probably kick my ass if I didn't vote for her!" Kyle laughed a little. "That's something I could do without!" Just then, the bell rang. Mr Garrison looked up at the bell, which was rattling above the door.  
  
"Alright, students," he began. "Hand me your 'class presidency forms' on your way out. I'll tally your votes, and give you the results in a little while." As the students filed out of the room, they passed by Garrison's desk to hand him their forms. As soon as the final student has closed the classroom door, Garrison shuffled the pile of forms into a neat stack. He began thumbing through them, reading the votes aloud…  
  
"Wendy Testaburger… Wendy Testaburger… Wendy Testaburger… Wendy…" Garrison continued to flick through the forms, his words trailing off into thoughts. Most of the students in the class had nominated Wendy for president, and it came as no surprise. Garrison yawned, building up a tally of votes. He stopped in his tracks, however, when he came across a rather odd form. He lifted it to his face, adjusting his spectacles, and began to read it in his head…  
  
'To my good friend, Mr Garrison… You've taught me all of my life, and just about everything I know. Next time someone makes fun of me because I'm stupid, I'll know who to blame. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I hate you. I really, really hate you. There's only one person I hate more than you, and that's… Cartman - yeah, that's right! You're a fucking queer, and… I hate you. From… Kyle.'  
  
Garrison, having finished reading the form, rolled his eyes and sighed. He crunched it up into a small paper ball, throwing it over his shoulder like the trash it was. "Note to self," he began, "give Eric Cartman a verbal ass-kicking". He grinned, and then continued to flick through the rest of the forms.  
  
----------  
  
Meanwhile, Butters and Tweek were squeezing their way through the labyrinth of corridors; which were tightly-packed with students. They were looking for room sixteen, in which they should be learning Mathematics. Thanks to the general hustle-and-bustle of the school, however, they were having no luck finding it.  
  
"I-it's gotta be a-around here, someplace…" Butters mumbled, looking at a plan of the building; which was printed on the reverse of his schedule.  
  
"Maybe we missed it, argh?!" Tweek squealed, looking around anxiously. Butters, after thinking for a moment or two, shook his head.  
  
"N-nope, I don't think so," he began, trailing off. After a few seconds, Butter chuckled to himself. Tweek looked over at him, bemused.  
  
"What's so funny, man?! We mightn't ever find the room… and then people would think we were truanting! And - and then we'd get suspended! Oh, sweet Jesus, no!" He twitched violently, tugging at his disorganised blonde hair.  
  
"I w-wasn't laughing at that," Butters began, looking behind at Tweek. "I-it's just that, well, we've been here for y-years; and we still don't k-know our way around the building!" He smiled again, mildly amused by the scenario.  
  
"Yeah," Tweek agreed, a small smile also finding it's way onto his face; before being erased by a vicious twitch. He titled his head to the side, scanning the corridor for any sign of room sixteen. As if by magic, or divine intervention, it stood just to his left. "Hey," Tweek began, pointing at the door. "Isn't that room sixteen?" His question was rhetorical, as it clearly was room sixteen, but Butters answered anyway.  
  
"W-why yes, it is!" He said, smiling widely. "C'mon, Tweek, we're late e-enough as it is!" He motioned for Tweek to follow him, as he headed quickly for the door.  
  
"Late?! Oh, Jesus!" Tweek exclaimed, shadowing Butters until they reached the door. Butters, one hand on the doorknob, knocked on the frosted glass panel politely. After hearing a faint 'come in', Butters opened the door, and both he and Tweek stepped inside.  
  
The interior of the room was virtually the same as any other in the school. On the far wall was a series of windows, hanging and looking out onto the yard like framed photographs of the outside world. A large quantity of small desks, mostly occupied, were scattered across the room; and a larger desk, at which the teacher sat, stood at the head of the room. The room was bordered with drab-looking posters, promoting the 'joys of math'. They were highly off-putting, and totally false. As Butters and Tweek walked cautiously into the room, the teacher looked up from his desk.  
  
"Sit down, boys," he said, motioning towards two desks near the window. The two students walked to the seats, and took them obediently. The teacher was of average stature; with short, smartly-combed grey hair and beady brown eyes. He was wearing a white shirt under a brown jacket, as well as brown trousers and a black bowtie. He looked like a antique - excavated from the late forties or early fifties. He rose to his feet.  
  
"I'm your tutor, Mr Wellington, and I'll be teaching you mathematics for the duration of your final year here." He began, speaking rather monotonously. He walked, in a mechanical fashion, across the front of the class; his wrinkled hands patting the pockets of his trousers, which had browned with age. "Now, I want to talk to everyone… about mathematics…"  
  
Tweek, hearing the opening of what was to be another drab speech on mathematics, almost immediately shut off. 'How could anybody be so passionate about something so… boring?' He thought to himself, reaching into his pocket. He fished out a small set of earphones, discretely slipping them on. Tweek flicked the 'play' switch on his walkman, and a heavy rock tune began pumping into his head. He reclined in his chair, his eyes sliding shut…  
  
Butters was sitting just behind Tweek. Unlike his friend, Butters always tried to behave and pay attention in class. However, he too felt like drifting off to sleep. Mathematics was not his favourite subject, to say the least. All the numbers, symbols and equations… as open-minded as Butters was, he just couldn't see any use for them. Despite this, he sat and listened intently. Even though he hated it, he seemed to have a way with numbers - if there was any one use for mathematics, then it was to up your grade average!  
  
"Alright," Wellington said, having just concluded his speech. "As a warm-up for the lesson, we're going to solve a few mathematical problems," Wellington strode to his desk, picking up a dusty piece of chalk. He turned to the board, and then began scraping away; the dusty white chalk, grinding against the board, screeched like an aggrieved banshee. Mathematics was, after all, ghoulishly boring.  
  
For the next hour or so, Wellington posed problem after problem. Each one was greeted with a 'contemplative' silence, and only Butters ever bothered to put any effort in. Somehow, he never failed to give the correct answer - no matter how difficult the problem was. After a while Wellington, completely astounded by Butters' mathematical ability, began to speak.  
  
"Well, Butters," he began, reaching for some erasers. "That was very impressive," Wellington turned to the board, and then began wiping the now huge collection of equations and figures. "It appears to me that you belong in the higher class… I'll have to look into it." A small smile crept across Butters' face, as Wellington clapped the two erasers together. As a white cloud of chalk choked the room, Wellington cleared his throat. "If this is the case, I'll have you transferred by next week."  
  
At the back of the room, Tweek was slouched at his desk. He was, of course, asleep; and had been so since the beginning of the lesson. It was strange how he had so much trouble sleeping at home, but dozed-off with such ease during math class - especially through a thick stew of guitar and drum. The walkman, still pumping music into his head, drowned out Mr Wellington's droning voice. Sometime during his slumber, Tweek had began reclining further in his chair. Even now, he was still reclining; his chair now balancing on two legs. He reclined further still - one leg… Crash!  
  
Tweek's chair tumbled backwards, taking him with it. It smashed into a cupboard, knocking it open, and spilled a literal tonne of books and equipment onto the floor. Tweek, sent crashing by his chair, landed in a heap atop the pile of paper, pens and pencils. The entire class, startled, turned around to face Tweek.  
  
"Argh! Sweet Jesus!" Tweek exclaimed, hauling himself upright. He looked around and saw that all eyes, including those of Wellington, were on him. "Too much pressure, man!" He shook his head furiously.  
  
"Tweek!" Wellington roared, his face quickly reddening. "You'd better have a good explanation for this, or…" He trailed off, as the intercom buzzed into action.  
  
"Would Eric Cartman please report to the councillor's office," came the voice of the still school councillor, Mr Mackey. "I repeat: would Eric Cartman please report to the councillor's office." The intercom clicked, and Mackey's voice faded. All eyes again fell on Tweek.  
  
"Oh, sweet Jesus! See me through this!" He squealed, his head jerking to the side as a violent twitch shook his body. Wellington cleared his throat, and Tweek did the same.  
  
----------  
  
Cartman stepped out of room forty-four, slamming the door behind him. The frosted glass panel rattled in it's frame; and it's 'forty-four' label, formerly held in place with a few small tacks, fell and drifted to the floor. As he started off down the corridor, Cartman could hear the angry yells of his teacher from inside the room. Something about 'not slamming doors'. Cartman, not caring, shrugged it off dismissively.  
  
Trudging angrily down the corridor, he headed for the councillor's office. It wasn't far off, but Cartman was in no hurry. Discipline had never bothered him - if he had to take a slap on the wrist to have a little fun, then so be it. Cartman laughed to himself. That note to Garrison was pretty funny and, if he had a dollar to spare, he'd bet that was why he was wanted by the councillor. He continued to weave his way through the corridors, eventually coming to the councillor's office. The door, like most others in the building, was a made from a varnished wood. It had a frosted glass panel, and a sign reading 'Councillor's Office'. Cartman knocked and pushed the door ajar, stepping inside.  
  
The room was, on the inside, much smaller than most others in the school. Directly opposite the door was a large desk, with a chair both behind and in front of it. The walls, painted and light shade of green, was plastered with 'feel-good' posters and bordered with bookshelves and filing cabinets. A neat brown carpet lay on the floor, like a meadow of sun-glazed grass. The school councillor, Mr Mackey, sat at the desk; with Mr Garrison by his side.  
  
Mr Mackey seemed a little younger than Garrison, but still bordering on middle-aged. He looked quite thin and fragile. He was very little stringy, greying hair; and dark, beady eyes. A pair of squared spectacles rested on his long, crooked nose. He was wearing a light green shirt, dark blue pants and a dark green tie. Mr Mackey motioned for Cartman to take a seat, and he did just that.  
  
"Alright now, Eric," Mr Mackey began, his voice sounding tired and worn. He flicked through a few papers on his desk, "there are a few things we need to talk about, m'kay…" He adjusted his spectacles, fishing out a certain sheet from the stack of papers.  
  
"What kinds of things?" Cartman asked, feigning innocence and naivety. Mr Garrison, standing over Mackey's right shoulder, narrowed his eyes. He pointed an accusing finger at Cartman.  
  
"Eric Cartman!" He began, his voice filled with anger. "You know exactly 'what kinds of things' we need to talk about! Just sit there and shut your face!"  
  
"Now, Mr Garrison," Mackey said, looking over his shoulder at his colleague. "I understand that you're upset, but you should try to deal with Eric calmly, m'kay." Garrison, his gaze meeting with Cartman's own, pretended to slit his throat. "Alright, Eric," Mackey continued, his eyes scanning the paper in his hands. "Apparently, you wrote this offensive message…" He lifted the paper, showing it to Cartman. It was, as a matter of fact, Cartman's class presidency nomination form.  
  
"Nope," Cartman said, shaking his head, "I didn't write that." He pointed to the end of the message, "I think Kyle Brovlofski wrote it…" Mr Mackey sighed.  
  
"Give it up, Eric," he began. "We know that you wrote it, and we've already decided your punishment." Cartman rolled his eyes, groaning.  
  
"Alright, alright! I'm sorry I wrote that note to Mr Garrison! I've learned my lesson, and it won't happen again! Can I go now?!" He began to haul himself up from his seat, but Mackey shook his head.  
  
"No, not this time, Eric," he said. Cartman, upon hearing 'not this time', froze. "Whilst all of your petty offensives have been dealt with leniency, this kind of behaviour will not be tolerated, m'kay." Cartman, still frozen, prepared for the worst. "You've gone too far this time, and so you'll be punished accordingly. Eric Cartman, from this moment on, you are suspended… indefinitely!"  
  
"What?!" Cartman exclaimed, overcome with shock. "But, you can't suspend me! I - I've learnt my lesson! I've - " Mackey cut him off.  
  
"I'm sorry, Eric," he began, "but there's no two ways about it. You've been indefinitely suspended. We'll be contacting your mother in a short while, so that we can discuss your future." Cartman opened his mouth to protest, but Mackey again cut him off. "You're dismissed, Eric - go home… m'kay."  
  
Cartman hauled himself up from his chair; and threw Mackey one last, pitiful glance. Sighing, he pointed to the door. Cartman, like an obedient family pet, headed for it. He grabbed and twisted the doorknob, stepping out into the corridor. As recess had just started, the corridors were overflowing with students. Cartman stepped into the crowds and, as just another body of sediment in the river, drifted towards the main entrance…  
  
----------  
  
The yard was, just like everywhere else on this miserable morning, another sombre sight. The grey slush that had drowned the main street had not turned a blind eye to the dark tarmac of South Park High School, and had collected there in every greater quantities than in the main street. There was enough fill a good few thousand bathtubs - not like anyone would want to bathe in it, though. Unlike the slush, the wind has died down a little; and now barely shook the tiled rooftops of the school. Several clusters of students had gathered here and there, talking and making the most of an otherwise doomed recess. Kyle, Stan and Wendy descended the stone steps of the main building, heading out into the centre of the yard.  
  
"Did you guys hear the message for Cartman on the intercom?" Kyle asked, wading through the slush alongside his friends. Stan and Wendy, walking hand-in-hand, both nodded.  
  
"Yeah…" Stan began "it sounded to me like he was in a lot of shit." A small smile found it's way onto his face, "I wonder what that stupid fat ass has done this time?" Kyle shrugged.  
  
"Who knows," he began, looking around the yard. "He's just so fucking unpredictable." Stan laughed and nodded.  
  
"Yeah…" he agreed, his own eyes now scanning the yard. Nothing but depressed faces, bathed in greyness. "I wonder where he is…"  
  
"He's probably in the cafeteria, having an early lunch!" Kyle joked, adding a little life the an otherwise dead or dying occasion. Stan and Wendy both laughed. Just then, Kenny emerged from the barrage of students emptying out into the yard. Noticing Kyle, Stan and Wendy, he headed towards them.  
  
"Hey, guys," he said, a large grin on his face. Kyle, Stan and Wendy, all spotting Kenny, turned and greeted him.  
  
"Hey, Kenny," they said, simultaneously.  
  
"Did you hear about what happened to Cartman?" Kenny asked, his grin widening. His friends shook their heads. "He got suspended!"  
  
"What?" Stan exclaimed, recoiling in shock. "Suspended?! What did that stupid fat ass do to get suspended?!" He asked.  
  
"After what Mr Garrison said to him, Cartman wrote some shit about him on a class presidency form; and then handed it in with the rest of them," Kenny explained, "I saw him write it - he was pretty proud of himself." Kyle, Stan and Wendy all laughed. "He even wrote, 'from Kyle', at the end!"  
  
"Jesus Christ!" Kyle laughed, almost doubling over. "I knew he was stupid… but, Goddamn!" Kenny nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he continued, "anyway, Garrison reported him; and then the school decided to suspend him."  
  
"How long has he been suspended for?" Wendy asked, still smiling. Kenny thought for a moment or two, and then shrugged.  
  
"I'm not too sure…" he replied, trailing off into thought. "I think he's been suspended indefinitely…" Kyle, Stan and Wendy laughed even more.  
  
"Well, I guess we'll be seeing even less of Cartman for a little while!" Stan said, laughing a little more. The others nodded. Just then, the bell sounded; signalling the end of recess, and the beginning of the next lesson. With a unified but muffled groan, every student in the yard began trudging back towards the school. Stan reached into the pocket, taking out and unfolding his schedule. "I've got shop class next… what about you?"  
  
"I think I've got home economics…" Wendy said, scanning her own schedule. She nodded, putting it back in her pocket. "Yeah… God, I hate that subject!" Stan laughed a little.  
  
"How come?" He asked. Wendy shrugged.  
  
"Y'know… they always teach you stupid things," she paused for a moment. "Like how you should marry someone rich and upper class - even if you don't love the guy! It's just stupid." She smiled lightly. "But I don't pay attention, 'cause I'm taken." Stan, too, smiled.  
  
"That's a relief," he joked. He looked over his shoulder at the multitude of students, all making their way into the school. "Well, I'd better go. See you later, Wendy," Stan said, leaning over and kissing her. Wendy smiled.  
  
"See you later, Stan," she said, turning and headed off in another direction. Stan began walking, alongside Kyle and Kenny, towards the school building.  
  
"You two kiss way too much, Stan," Kenny commented, as the trio ascended the stone steps of the main entrance. Stan looked over at him.  
  
"Shut your face, Kenny," he replied, shooting him a jokingly angry look. "If you had a girlfriend as awesome as Wendy, then you'd do the same thing." Kenny shrugged, and he and his friends disappeared into the school.  
  
----------  
  
Wendy walked quickly across the miserable grey yard, heading for one of the smaller school buildings; which stood on the other side of the gymnasium. It was a small, single-story building, and was just about big enough for five or six classrooms. As was the case with the main school building and the gym itself, this minor building was painted a light shade of green. A straight tarmac path led up to the main entrance, which existed in the form of a set of wooden double-doors. Wendy headed up the path, pushing the doors open. She stepped inside the small building which, as implied by it's small size, indeed held only a few classrooms. The entrance led straight onto a single corridor, similar to those in the main building, with three classroom doors on either side.  
  
Wendy headed for the last door on the right. She looked up at it's frosted glass pane, and read the sign hanging there. 'Room six'. She knocked on the door and, a second or two later, turned the knob and pushed it open. The interior of the room was quite small. A dark green carpet lay on the floor, and the walls were painted a girly pink. Along with bookshelves and cupboards; cookers, fridges and freezers bordered the walls. One long desk spanned the breadth of the room, at which most of the girls in the school sat; and another, smaller desk was at the head of the room. Several windows were on the far wall, looking out onto the yard. The teacher was standing at the whiteboard, just behind her desk.  
  
The teacher was a relatively young woman, around her mid-thirties. She was quite short and thin; with shoulder-length charcoal hair, and light blue eyes. She was wearing a long purple dress, unbuttoned at the collar. She was, of course, the same woman who'd taught Wendy home economics in Elementary School. She had married Mr Adler a few years back, and so was now Mrs Adler.  
  
"Take a seat…" the teacher trailed off, obviously forgetting Wendy's name.  
  
"I'm Wendy Testaburger, ma'am," Wendy said, quickly clearing up. "I think that you taught me home economics in Elementary School." The teacher paused, and then nodded.  
  
"Oh, that's right! It's nice to see you again, Wendy," Mrs Adler said, smiling. "Take a seat; we were just about to begin." Wendy walked across the room, sitting down alongside Bebe; who was already seated at the far-left of the desk.  
  
"Hey, Wendy," Bebe whispered, turning to face her friend.  
  
"Hey, Bebe, Wendy replied, smiling. "I didn't see you on the bus this morning… I didn't think you'd be coming to school." Bebe shook her head.  
  
"I overslept." She replied, bluntly. "Besides, I usually let you know if I'm not going to school." Wendy nodded. "Anyway, are you still coming to the mall this afternoon?" Wendy thought for a few moments, and then nodded again.  
  
"Yeah, I guess so," she replied. "But I've got a few things that I wanna do first, is four o'clock okay with you?" Bebe nodded and prepared to speak, but Mrs Adler clapped her hands to grab the class's attention.  
  
"Okay, class, I want to get started now," she said. The class immediately fell silent, and Mrs Adler smiled. "I know you've all learnt home economics before, but I want to go over the basics before we begin." She took a red marker, and then turned to write on the whiteboard. "Now, when you're a little older, you should all marry nice, rich men - a woman has to look out for herself. Home economics will teach you how to be the perfect housewife. As you all know…" Wendy groaned quietly.  
  
"My God," she whispered, turning to face Bebe. "I hate this lesson." Bebe looked a little bemused.  
  
"You hate it?" She asked, "then why did you opt for it?" Wendy sighed.  
  
"I didn't," she began. "But, you know how it is; if you're a little attractive, then they send you here… and pump your head full of this Fascist shit." Bebe laughed a little.  
  
"You could say that," she began, "or you could say that the purpose of home economics is to teach us valuable life lessons." Wendy rolled her eyes.  
  
"Yeah, right," she scoffed. "I don't consider 'opt for the rich guy, rather than the guy you really love' a valuable life lesson." Bebe laughed quietly.  
  
"We're going to learn a few phrases," Mrs Adler began, grabbing the attention of the two girls. "These might come in handy in the near future, so be sure to remember them." She cleared her throat. "Now, repeat after me; 'Honey, can I get a new wardrobe'?"  
  
"Honey, can I get a new wardrobe," the entire class repeated, simultaneously; though a few girls we out of sync.  
  
"Try this one; 'Lisa Smith's husband just bought her a new car'," Mrs Adler said, emphasising the 'her'.  
  
"Lisa Smith's husband just bought her a new car," the class again repeated, some emphasising the same word. Mrs Adler nodded.  
  
"Well done," she began. "Bebe, how about you try this one." She cleared her throat. "Repeat after me; 'I think a trip to Hawaii would really improve our sex life'." Bebe nodded.  
  
"I think I trip to Hawaii would really improve our sex life," Bebe repeated, virtually perfectly.  
  
"Outstanding. Now, Wendy, how about you try this very handy one; 'I'd love to take our relationship further, but not until you buy me a diamond ring'." Wendy nodded.  
  
"I'd love to take our relationship further, but…" she stopped, her mind trailing off into her own thoughts. Mrs Adler looked bemused.  
  
"What's the matter, Wendy?" She asked. Wendy shook her head furiously, hauling herself back to reality.  
  
"N-nothing." She said, clearing her throat. "I'd l-love to take our relationship further, b-but…" she stopped again, seemingly struggling. "But n-not until you buy me a d-diamond ring." Mrs Adler looked a little less bemused, but bemused all the same.  
  
"That was okay, Wendy, but there's still room for improvement," she began, turning to the board again. "Anyway, now we're going to learn how to distinguish between a 'zero' and a 'hero' - that's a 'lawyer' and a 'barrister'…" Wendy, sitting in her seat, looked increasingly uncomfortable.  
  
----------  
  
The rest of the lesson passed quickly. After a seemingly short amount of time, the bell rung and signalled the beginning of the lunch break. The students, Mrs Adler's included, poured out of their classes and into the corridors. Stan, Kyle and Kenny emptied out of one of the shop class workshops, heading immediately for the cafeteria.  
  
"I can't believe Mr Adler is back," Stan said, shaking his head. Kyle and Kenny, walking alongside him, both nodded.  
  
"Yeah," Kyle began, "but he seems a lot nicer than last time - he doesn't seem to accuse us of 'screwing around too much' anymore." Kenny nodded again.  
  
"I know," he began, hurrying to keep up with his friends. "I heard that he married my old home economics teacher, y'know." Stan and Kyle looked over at him.  
  
"He did?" Stan asked. "I always knew they were dating, or something… What was her name, anyway?" Kenny thought for a moment, and then shrugged.  
  
"I'm not sure," he replied, as the trio neared the cafeteria. "I wasn't there long enough to find out. Besides, I never paid attention in that class."  
  
The three had now come to the end of the corridor. Turning to the right, they continued on towards the double-doors of the cafeteria. Stan, walking a little ahead of the other two, pushed the doors open. Kyle and Kenny, trailing a little behind, followed suite. The three boys stepped into the cafeteria which, as was the case the previous day, was totally packed. As if every student in the school had reached the cafeteria before Stan, Kyle and Kenny; just about every seat available had been taken up. A long, long lunch line meandered, like the mighty Thames, along the walls. Sighing, the three boys joined the end of it.  
  
"Why exactly did you take home economics, anyway, Kenny?" Stan asked; looking back at Kenny, who was standing ahead of Kyle. He shrugged.  
  
"I'm not really sure, I guess I was just curious as to what it was like," he said. "But, as it turned out, it fucking sucked." Kyle shook his head, laughing.  
  
"That isn't why you picked home economics, Kenny," he began. "You picked it so that you could be around all the girls!" Kenny thought for a moment, and then shrugged.  
  
"Okay, so maybe I did pick home economic to be around the girls, so what?" Kenny said. "At least I showed some interest in girls, unlike some people…"  
  
"Hey!" Kyle growled, shooting Kenny an angry glance. "I did and do show interest in girls! You're just a pervert!" Kenny shrugged. Stan, standing just ahead of the two, opened his mouth to speak, but Kyle cut him off. "You can't get involved, Stan!"  
  
"Why not?" Stan asked, a little bemused. Kyle rolled his eyes.  
  
"Because, dumb ass, you've held the same relationship for nine fucking years! That totally dwarfs anything we can achieve for at least a decade!" Kenny looked forward at Stan.  
  
"How do you do it, dude?" He asked, "I mean, how do you hold the same relationship for nine years?! It's fucking crazy!" Stan thought for a few seconds, and then shrugged.  
  
"There's no trick to it," he began. "Me and Wendy were made for each other; and, as was supposed to happen, we just clicked - it was fate." Kenny nodded.  
  
"Alright, alright! I didn't ask for your life story!" He said, grinning. Stan threw him an angry glance, but let the desire to retaliate pass.  
  
By now, the three boys had reached the front of the line. Their trays in their hands, they headed into the main kitchen. Chef, as usual, was there to greet them…  
  
"Hello, children!" He exclaimed, in his usual jovial manner. Almost automatically, Stan, Kyle and Kenny smiled.  
  
"Hey, Chef," they replied, simultaneously.  
  
"How are my favourite crackers today?" Chef asked, grinning widely. He took a large spoonful of mashed potato (or just some gooey yellow stuff), and slopped it onto Stan's plate.  
  
"Good," the boys replied. Chef continued to heap food onto the boys' plates, still talking as he did so.  
  
"That's good," he said, as he finished supplying Kenny with his lunch. Kyle and Kenny both passed Stan, heading back out into the main dining area.  
  
"Chef, I've got quite a big problem," Stan began, suddenly sounding a little depressed. "Can I talk to you, or something?" Chef looked around awkwardly.  
  
"Sorry, Stan," he began, motioning towards the long line of hungry students, waiting to be served. "I've got to feed all these kids or, like I said, I'll lose my job." He paused for a moment. "You can tell me all about it at the party, and I'll see what I can do." Stan nodded.  
  
"Alright. See you later, Chef." Stan said, heading out of the kitchen. "Jesus Christ," he began, talking to himself, "it seems like everything's gonna happen at my party!" He looked around, noticing Kyle and Kenny sitting at a nearby table. He walked over a joined them, sitting opposite the two. "Sorry about that, you guys."  
  
"No problem," Kyle said, speaking through a mouthful of shitty mashed potato. Just then, Craig and Clyde approached the table from the kitchen. They were both dressed in their usual attire, except that Craig was no longer wearing his hat. His spiked black hair was exposed, shining under the lights of the cafeteria.  
  
"Hey, assholes," Craig said, grinning widely. "I heard Chef say something about Stan, and a party. Can anyone fill me in, here?" Stan sighed.  
  
"Yeah, I can," he began, taking a sip from his can of soda. "My parents are out-of-town at the weekend, and I'm throwing a party." He explained. Craig thought for a moment, and then spoke again.  
  
"Well, I hope you don't mind if I show up? I can't miss a party, and you know that." He said, grinning. Stan nodded.  
  
"Sure thing, dude; be my guest," he replied. Craig took a chocolate bar from his pocket, unwrapping and stuffing it into his mouth. Kyle looked over and grinned.  
  
"Hey, Craig," he began, grabbing his attention. "You should lay off the sweets and shit, or you'll end up fat like Cartman - you're already well on your way!" Craig shot Kyle an angry.  
  
"I'm not fat, you piece of shit!" He growled, raising his fist and flipping Kyle off. "And if you call me fat again, I'll bust your jaw!" Kyle laughed.  
  
"Sure thing, Craig," he said, dismissing Craig's promise as a hollow one. His anger subsiding, Craig began to walk away, followed swiftly by Clyde.  
  
"I'll see you assholes later!" He called, disappearing into a crowd of students. Stan, Kyle and Kenny shrugged, and continued eating their lunch.  
  
----------  
  
The rest of the lunch break, along with the rest of the school day, passed quite quickly and uneventfully. Eventually, the bell rung; and was met with cheers. Every student in the school, as if starved of oxygen for the past few hours, emptied out of the school like rivers of lightning. They poured out onto the yard and, from their, into the streets. Another school day was over, and only three more remained… in the week, that is.  
  
Wendy was amongst those students. She descended the stone steps of the main building, walking onto the yard and waiting around for Stan. He hadn't been in her previous lesson, and so she'd not seen him since that morning. The two always met up before the end of school, and today was to be no exception. After a minute or so of waiting, Stan, Kyle and Kenny appeared at the main entrance. Just as Wendy had a few moments earlier, they walked down the steps and onto the yard. Stan noticed Wendy, and walked over to see her.  
  
"Hey, babe," Stan said, smiling. Wendy smiled back.  
  
"Hey, Stan," she replied. The two walked slowly alongside each other; and Kyle and Kenny followed, knowing that they'd separate at the school gate. "Stan," Wendy began, grabbing his attention. He looked over at her, an inquisitive look on his face. "I think that there are a few things we should talk about…"  
  
"Huh?" Stan looked a little bemused. "What things?" Suddenly, his countenance dropped dramatically. "Wait, you're not dumping me are you?!" Wendy laughed, shaking her head.  
  
"Jesus Christ, no!" She said, quickly clearing up. "I don't want to talk about ending our relationship - we're totally made for each other!" Stan, more relieved than he'd ever been in his life, nodded.  
  
"Yeah, that's what I told Kenny," he said. Wendy smiled, and nodded.  
  
"Like I said, I don't want to talk about ending our relationship; far from it," She said. Stan nodded.  
  
"Right," he began, "so what do you want to talk about?" Wendy opened her mouth to speak, but paused. She thought for a few moments.  
  
"Actually, now definitely isn't the best time…" She began, "Maybe we can talk some other time. At your party, or something." Stan nodded, as the two arrived at the school gate. "I guess I'll see you later, Stan," Wendy said, leaning over and kissing him.  
  
"Alright. See you later, babe," Stan said, smiling. Wendy headed out of the gate, and Stan's gaze followed her dreamily until she disappeared from view. "If she's thinking what I'm thinking," he began, talking to himself again; "then it's gonna be one Hell of a night…"  
  
==========  
  
Closing A/N  
  
Finally! That seemed to take ages, but 'A New Life' is complete! I do apologise for any sloppiness in this chapter, but I ran out of ideas at times. Rest assured, I have quite a fresh bucket for the next chapter! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading… until next time, farewell!  
  
Oh, and don't forget to review! 


	5. An Alternative Point Of View

Opening A/N  
  
Alright, here is the next chapter of 'High School Escapades', entitled 'An Alternative Point Of View'. It actually begins several hours before the end of 'A New Life', commencing with Cartman's reaction to his suspension…  
  
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter - don't forget to review, people!  
  
==========  
  
Cartman stomped down the stone steps of the main entrance and onto the yard, the grey slush splashing beneath his heavy feet. He was surrounded, everywhere he looked, by other students. In his state of mind, they all seemed to be mocking him. They were pointing at him, and laughing at him. He was a loser - and everybody knew it. Suddenly, Cartman's paranoia turned to anger.  
  
"What the fucking Hell are you all looking at?!" He yelled, his arms outstretched and inviting some kind of retaliation. A few students turned around and actually looked at him, but most of them simply ignored him. "Argh! I hate you guys! I hate all you guys!" Almost every student in the yard, upon hearing this outburst, erupted into laughter. Cartman tugged at the messy brown hair beneath his hat in both frustration and embarrassment, and then scurried across the yard. He felt totally targeted, and tried to hide beneath himself.  
  
Cartman trudged out of the school gates and onto the street. It was beginning to rain, if only a little. The rain, accompanied by sleet, added to the grey slush that drowned the sidewalks. Cartman felt like total shit, but he didn't know why. The day before, he'd have given just about anything for an excuse to get away from school. A little time off was sweet, but a suspension was not. Cartman was never going to be a nice guy, and he was never going to care about school; but something inside him was yelling out - 'dumb ass! How could you have been so stupid as to get suspended?! Now everyone knows that you're a loser!' Cartman shook his head furiously, plunging his hands into his pockets. He sighed heavily, his icy breath hanging in the air like a sombre spectre. It was the ghost of his self-respect.  
  
He started off down the street, his hands in his pockets. The greyish-green trees jerked mechanically in the wind, as if they were doubling-over with laughter. They were, as was the case with just about every student in South Park High School, mocking Cartman. He looked around anxiously, and tried again to hide himself… this time from the trees. After a few seconds of this, he shook his head and ceased. What the Hell was he thinking?! Though just about every student in South Park High School was probably laughing at him right now, the trees most certainly were not. Somehow, that made Cartman feel a little better; but it failed to help or solve the situation.  
  
Throwing aside his own self-esteem and reputation for the moment, Cartman began to think of another matter at hand. He had to explain to his mom about his suspension. She always knew that he was quite the mischief-maker, but she'd never have guessed that he'd be so stupid as to get suspended. When she found out, she was going to flip! Maybe Cartman could just lie about it, and claim that he'd felt ill? Being the idiot that he was, the thought had crossed his almost non-functional mind. At the end of the day, she was going to find out anyway. If Cartman lied about it, and then his mom found out, it would just make everything even worse.  
  
As he trundled miserably down the vale, a series of cars sped towards him. They tore past him like a group of drunken street racers, whipping the rainwater and grey slush into a frenzy. Before he could react, Cartman had been drenched. He stood for a few seconds, totally motionless, before clenching his fists and lifting his head…  
  
"Not again! Fucking weak!" He screamed, alarming a group of birds that had, somehow, settled in a nearby tree. With a startled flutter, they flew off into the icy air. Cartman, an angry look on his face, watched them as they passed overhead. He leaned over into the gutter, grabbing a large, jagged rock and hurling it at the flock. Obviously, they were far too fast for him, and easily evaded the projectile. The rocked crashed back to earth, landing heavily on the sidewalk with an empty crack. Cartman, now even more frustrated by his failure, screamed. Angrier than ever, he continued on down the road.  
  
The main street, like a desolate, icy wasteland, loomed in the distance. Though it's multitude of colours were now visible, they had been dampened by the rain and sleet. Even from the vale, Cartman could see that nobody was out. They were probably all in their homes or shops, taking refuge from the shitty weather. He, too, wanted to take refuge. If not from the weather, then from the humiliation and sense of defeat that accompanied suspension.  
  
The way Cartman was thinking about the suspension, you'd think that he was really, really upset about the whole thing. Whilst that was, to an extent, true; it wasn't exactly the case. He had a better reason to be pissed. The reason was this: he'd committed a mischievous act, tried to remain anonymous, and he'd been caught. By now, everybody knew it. By now, he was the laughing stock of the school. He was an idiot. Decent troublemakers wouldn't have been so stupid. Decent troublemakers were smarter than that. Decent troublemakers… like Craig, for instance. Cartman, homing in on the main street, laughed aloud.  
  
Craig? A decent troublemaker? Yeah, right! Craig was a pussy. Whilst Cartman's childhood antics had involved verbally attacking gays and targeting minorities, Craig's had involved flipping people off behind their backs, and throwing paper airplanes. Suddenly, a small smile crossed Cartman's lips. So what if he'd been suspended - caught in the act? So what if people thought he was a dumb ass? Whilst he was a dumb ass, he was also a bad ass. When it came to troublemaking, and shit-stirring, Cartman had no boundaries. That was what set him apart from everyone else. Everyone else had a line, a point which they would not go beyond. Cartman had no such line.  
  
All of a sudden, things were starting to look up. Sure, he'd been suspended. Sure, he'd get a little disciplining from his mom. But, when it was all said and done, he would be the biggest menace in South Park High… and he'd have some time off school to boot! Cartman grinned widely - things weren't going to be so bad after all. As he closed in on the first shop of the main street, his miserable trundle broke into a more jovial stroll. It was so strange how, with one thought, he'd come to see things entirely differently.  
  
Cartman continued on down the main street. Whilst a thick mist hung about him, freezing-cold sleet continued to drench him, and grey slush still bathed his feet in ice; he couldn't care less. Since his certain realisation, Cartman had come to feel that his suspension was nothing but a little time off school. And when did a little time off school give you, or anybody else, reason for dismay? Never. It was fair to say that, whilst Cartman wasn't feeling as fantastic as Kenny probably was twelve hours or so earlier, he was feeling pretty good about himself.  
  
Nobody was about. Not a single person walked the main street, aside from Cartman himself. They were all indoors, sheltering from the weather. Whilst they didn't exactly conjure up a thunder storm; the rain, sleet and slush made for general unpleasantness. Walking down the main street, Cartman passed shop after shop, and home after home. Every time, due to his nosey demeanour, he looked in through the window. He saw shop keeper, customer and everyday person alike, fussing about in the warmth of the indoors. Seeing this, Cartman shuddered violently. He was, of course, on the outside - and it was a Hell of a lot colder from where he was standing. He smiled a little. He was thinking about how he'd spend his first hour or so off school. First off, he'd have to tell his mom about his suspension. After a little disciplining, he'd grab a few packs of Cheesy Poofs, put his feet up on the sofa and watch television… in the warmth. Cartman sighed agreeably, continuing on down the main street.  
  
Screech… splash!  
  
Cartman turned his head, catching a glimpse of a small car, speeding off towards the vale. He looked down at his drenched, icy body, dripping onto the already soaked sidewalk. His arms were outstretched and, from the neck down, he was completely motionless.  
  
"WEEEEAAK!" He tore his waterlogged hat from his head, throwing it to the floor. It hit the cold pavement with a soggy thud, splashing more grey matter about the place. In his anger, Cartman stomped continuously on his hat, muddying it, before booting it into the gutter. He ran and jumped from the sidewalk, his heavy boots landing hard on the hat. He began jumping up and down on it, whining and screaming.  
  
A few shopkeepers, curious as to what was going on, stepped out of their shops to take a look. Most of them, seeing that it was Eric Cartman, simply shrugged and slammed their doors over. Some, however, hung around to watch him throw a temper-tantrum, amused smiles spread over their faces. Cartman continued to jump up and down on his hat, sleet, slush and a little snow splashing about around him. In his final act, he kicked the hat along the gutter and down into a drain. He listened intently, as the hat plunged into the sewage water below with a heavy plop. A half-content smile crossing his face, Cartman stepped back onto the sidewalk. That was when he noticed the shopkeepers, staring at him.  
  
"What the fuck are you all looking at?! Go away - I'm fucking seriously!" The shopkeepers, laughing and shrugging at the same time, stepped back into their shops. Cartman, now feeling a little better, started off towards the main residential district. Suddenly, he looked really, really pissed. Now his mom was gonna bitch at him for losing his hat, too! "This fucking sucks!" Once again, in the blink of an eye, Cartman's mood had swung completely. He had always been like that. One minute, he'd be in the best of moods. The next, he'd be throwing a total temper-tantrum. Being in a situation like his didn't help, though. Taking a deep breath, he tried to think positive thoughts. After a few seconds, he continued on down the road.  
  
After a short while, Cartman entered the main residential district of South Park. This consisted of a few small blocks of houses, stemming out from the main street itself like the branches of a tree. Within a short amount of time, Cartman had reached his own house. Probably because of the weather, it looked a little more miserable than usual. The bright paint looked very dull behind a curtain of fog, and the lawn dead beneath the grey slush. Cartman started up his garden path, stopping at the door. He reached into his pocket, fumbling about for, and fishing out, his key. He slid it into the lock, but hesitated to turn it. For some reason or another, he was dreading telling his mom of his suspension. He didn't know why - after all, it wasn't like Eric Theodore Cartman to be worried by anything. He shook his head viciously and, shoving aside the ominous feeling, turned the key. Hearing the lock click, he pushed the door open.  
  
Cartman stepped into the hallway. He slammed the door behind himself with such ferocity that the house itself seemed to shake. He shrugged, unbuttoning and removing his coat. He hung it up on a wooden coat rack which, like the one in the kitchen, hung alongside the door. He unfastened and slipped off his shoes, as he did his socks and gloves. He tossed them to the floor, and they landed on the carpet with a soggy thud. He walked into the living room, dripping and leaving a dirty trail of rainwater behind him. The soft carpet felt warm and fuzzy beneath his bare feet, and it was kind of soothing - especially considering the weather outside.  
  
Cartman headed into the living room. It was completely spotless - sparkling, just as it had been that morning. It was completely untouched, and so Cartman figured that his mom must have been out all day. She was probably still out now. He walked across the room and over to the television. He switched it on, and then headed out into the kitchen. One again, it was completely spotless. He opened the fridge but, seeing no food of interest, took out only a can of soda. He moved on to the cupboard and, just as he had the previous day, settled for a few packets of 'Cheesy Poofs'. Scratching his messy brown-haired head, he trundled back into the living room and slouched down on the sofa.  
  
Cartman reached for the remote control, which was sitting on a small table just to the side of the sofa. He flicked through the channels, until he came across some crappy daytime TV game show. Shrugging, he tossed the remote control aside.  
  
"Eric? Is that you, Hon?" Ms Cartman opened the front door, and called through the house. Cartman looked over into the hallway. His mom was carrying quite a few shopping bags, and her shoulders looked about ready to come apart under the weight.  
  
"Yeah, it's me," Cartman replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. Ms Cartman walked into the room, taking small, awkward steps as a result of the heavy bags.  
  
"You're home early, aren't you, Eric?" She asked, continuing past Cartman and into the kitchen. She dumped the bags on the table and sighed loudly. Cartman nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he replied, bluntly. Ms Cartman walked into the living room. She stopped in front of Cartman, her hands on her hips, as if demanding an explanation. Cartman groaned, as he couldn't see the TV, and submitted. "I got suspended," he said. Ms Cartman's expression darkened and, seeing that she was about to get pissed off, Cartman shook his head. "Just let me explain - it wasn't my fault, mom!" Ms Cartman nodded reluctantly. "Alright, we were all electing a class president…" Cartman began, "and Mr Garrison was putting me down again. He said that I could never be the class president, 'cause I'm too stupid. I was really, really pissed off; so I called him a 'fucking queer'. Then I got suspended." Cartman cursed to himself, realising that he shouldn't have told his mom that he'd called Garrison a 'fucking queer'. Ms Cartman, however, had been appeased.  
  
"Oh, well, don't you worry about that, Hon," she said, speaking sympathetically. "How about I make you a nice chocolate chicken pot pie to cheer you up, hmm?" Cartman's face lit up.  
  
"Okay, mom," he said, trying to sound saddened by the turn of events. He was, obviously, playing on his mom's sympathy. Ms Cartman, nodding, walked back into the kitchen. A huge smile crossed Cartman's face. He burst open his pack of 'Cheesy Poofs' and grabbed a handful of them. He shoved them into his mouth, and then took several large swigs of his soda. He put his feet up on the sofa, sighing happily.  
  
----------  
  
A few hours later, and the school day had officially ended. Students emptied out of the school, and out of the yard. Wendy Testaburger was amongst them. Clutching her books tight against her chest, and with her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, she headed quickly out of the gates. Somehow, the weather had cleared up quite a little. The sun was finally able to pierce the clouds, and was already ridding the streets of the grey slush. The sidewalks, wet with the liquid remains of the slush, sparkled in the sunlight. As Wendy walked away from the school, she could see her blurry reflection on the pavements ahead of her. She sighed loudly.  
  
It was fair to say that, for the most part, Wendy had endured a shit day so far. Her early morning set the standards at an all-time low, as it was far from perfect. Aside from the relatively laid-back journey to school, the rest of the day had, generally, followed suite with extreme precision. Her first lesson was nothing extraordinary - it was just dull and eventless, as per usual. Home Economics, however, sucked total ass. It's not like that was anything new, with Mrs Adler shitting out the usual crap. Whilst that sucked ass, it was far from the worst thing to happen. Wendy had made a total idiot of herself, and in front of a class of girls who respected her as their intellectual superior. 'I'd love to take our relationship further, but not until you buy me a diamond ring' - who'd have thought that saying that would prove such a difficult task? When asked to recite that very sentence, Wendy had fucked up… big time.  
  
A few years ago, she wouldn't have had a problem; she'd have been able to recite it, along with just about any other normal person. It's not that she'd grown illiterate during her teenage years, but that she didn't have to think about sex when she was twelve! Well, she didn't have to think about sexual dilemmas, at least. Her relationship with Stan, though absolutely fantastic, was trapped between two levels of seriousness. There was their current stage, and the next stage up - the sex stage. Though she didn't know it, Wendy was feeling just about the same way Stan was about the whole situation. She really wanted to take it further with him, but she was so nervous… so afraid.  
  
Wendy walked down the vale, in the opposite direction that Cartman had earlier. Whilst Cartman was heading for the 'generally well-off' district, Wendy was heading for the 'well-off' district. To be fair, her mom wasn't so much better-off than anybody else in town, they just happened to live in a nicer district. Her house was at least forty minutes from Stan's house, and that's why Wendy was staying over after the party.  
  
A short while ago, she'd told Stan that she had something important to talk about. Despite their marvellous relationship, he'd thought that Wendy wanted to dump him! She cleared it up, and the two laughed it off. Wendy then decided that the school yard wasn't the time or place for the conversation, and told Stan that she'd talk with him at his party. She'd put herself under considerable pressure, and she had to keep to her word… despite her anxieties. Stan, obviously in the same situation as Wendy, suspected that she was thinking the same thing as him. However, this only made him even more nervous.  
  
The 'well-off' district of South Park, obviously, was not situated on or off the main street. It consisted of a small residential area, which was a little neater and tidier than most of South Park. The vale, on which the school sat, ran between the 'well-off' and 'generally well-off' districts of the town. From the school, heading left would take you to the main street; and heading right would take you to the 'well-off' residential area. Wendy continued on down the vale and, the closer and closer she got to the 'well-off' district, the nicer and nicer the vale itself became.  
  
As she neared the residential area, Wendy's mind drifted back to Stan's party. As a matter of fact, she hadn't even told her mom about it yet. Even though her mom was quite protective of her, Wendy wasn't at all worried. The chances were, she wouldn't have any problem with her going along… or staying the night, for that matter. Although Ms Testaburger hadn't really seen a whole lot of Stan, what little she had seen had given her a good picture of what kind of person he was. Ms Testaburger already knew just how special the relationship between Stan and her daughter was, and she trusted the two of them not to do anything stupid… without thinking about it first, at least. Wendy herself knew what her mom thought. Seeing as she knew that her mom wouldn't have a problem, Wendy figured that she'd tell her about the party that night.  
  
Wendy was nearing the end of the vale, which was gradually bearing less and less resemblance to the scruffier main street. In the distance, she could see the residential area - the 'well-off' district. The incredible, but often only occasional, narrow-mindedness of the people of South Park never failed to amaze. The people of 'well-off' district weren't really any more well-off than the other people in town. The district was labelled so because of it's environment, rather than it's occupants. Yet just about every person outside of the district had a preset, stereotypical view of those inside of it. They were all upper-class and snobby, with plenty of money to burn… yeah right. The truth was that, bar the Williams family, there were very few such people in your average, backwater town - especially in South Park.  
  
The actual span of South Park was like a precisely-defined spectrum. At one end of the town and spectrum, separated and isolated by the old railroad, was the 'totally poor' district. Following on immediately was South Park's 'generally well-off' district, the largest of the three. At the top of the spectrum, separated from the other districts by the vale, was the 'well-off' district. This kind of spectrum, genuinely rare, had been created by the people of South Park themselves. The inhabitants of the 'totally poor' district were complete slackers, content to sit by and let their homes crumble like sandcastles in the rain. At the other end, however, the people of the 'well-off' district had a little more dignity, often caring more about the appearance of their environment than themselves. Those between the two, in the 'generally well-off' district, just went about their lives on a day-to-day basis; as average, working class citizens of America… it was funny how they were called 'generally well-off', even though they were just average.  
  
Wendy arrived at the end of the vale, walking out from beneath the trees and onto the streets of the 'well-off' district. Thanks to the vale, the transition from 'generally well-off' to 'well-off' was a gradual one, unlike the one from 'generally well-off' to 'totally-poor'. This district was very nice, in comparison to the others, at least. The streets, darting beneath leaning, luxuriant trees, were litter-free; as residents, even though they barely dropped any, took is upon themselves to it clean up. The pavements had been submerged in icy, grey crap for most of the day, but had been steam-cleaned. Now they sparkled in the golden sunlight, reflections of the mild blue sky shimmering on their stone surface like a undisturbed forest pond. Piles of fallen leaves lay about, having been shovelled by the residents of the district. The houses themselves were pretty nice. Each one came equipped with a large garage and an extensive, neatly-trimmed lawn. They stood proud, one after the other, along the spotless streets. They were almost like trophies, proud possessions, sitting and shining on South Park's mantelpiece.  
  
Wendy continued on down the street, passing strikingly similar house after house; as if walking through a long, looped film reel. She came to a set of traffic lights and, after pressing the activation button, watched as the roads froze over. She crossed hurriedly, continuing her journey on the opposite sidewalk. As if mirroring the other side of the road, the same monotonous pattern of houses existed there, too. After a little more walking, a small general store appeared at the end of the block. Wendy, very deep in thought, didn't notice the woman who stepped out of the doorway and in front of her. She appeared to be in her mid-forties; she was quite short, and a little podgy. She had straight, shoulder-length black hair, which had obviously been dyed, and brown eyes. She was wearing a yellow shirt and a long red skirt. Several heavy-looking shopping bags weighed her down, restricting her movement a little. Wendy, not looking up from the ground, walked straight into the woman, almost knocking her over. She stumbled, dropping her shopping, as Wendy also dropped her own books. She looked up, recognising the woman who she'd bumped into.  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mrs Kimble!" Wendy said, snapping straight out of her thoughts. She hurried over to the woman, and began gathering her bags. Mrs Kimble shook her head.  
  
"It's already, Wendy," she began, kneeling down and grabbing a few of her own bags herself. Wendy handed her the remainder of them, and then began collecting her books, as well. "I should've been paying more attention…"  
  
"No, no!" Wendy interrupted, "I should've been looking where I was going - it was my fault, really." Picking up the last of her books, Wendy rose to her feet. She brushed the books, and then herself, off. "Well, it was nice to see you, Mrs Kimble," she said, smiling lightly.  
  
"You too," Mrs Kimble replied, also smiling. "I haven't seen you in so long… eight, nine years?" Wendy nodded.  
  
"Yeah, it's been nine years," she replied. Mrs Kimble eyed her up and down a few times, until her gaze rested on the books in Wendy's arms.  
  
"I see you're still studying hard," she said. Wendy, looked down at her books, nodding. "That's good." Mrs Kimble, smiling, seemed to drift off into thought. After a few seconds, she spoke again. "And what about that boy… Stanley Marsh, was it? Are you still dating him?" She asked. Wendy nodded again.  
  
"Yeah," was all she could muster as her mind, triggered by Stan's name, began to drift back to earlier matters of importance. Mrs Kimble looked astounded, and she shook her head in disbelief.  
  
"That's really quite amazing," she began, smiling. "You two were dating when I last saw you, about eight years ago. I suppose you two are much more serious, now…" Wendy winced.  
  
"Uh, yeah…" she said, feeling a little uncomfortable for the second time that day. She forced a smile. "I don't want to seem like I'm trying to get rid of you, but I've really gotta get home," she said. Mrs Kimble nodded. "It was nice seeing you again, Mrs Kimble."  
  
"You too, Wendy," she said, walking past her and around the street corner. As soon as Mrs Kimble had gone, Wendy sighed. Once again, someone had brought up her and Stan in conversation. Any other time, she wouldn't have minded - she was so happy to be with Stan. But, right now, the mention of his name, or even the word 'serious', made her stomach tighten like a knot of barbed wire. It was a knot of anxiety and fear, not of detest. Wendy started off down the street again, her head hanging almost limply.  
  
The more she thought about it, the more her anxieties seemed crazy and blown totally out of proportion. She and Stan had been together for a very, very long time… for a couple of their age, at least. At seventeen, a nine year-long relationship was something special. A 'silly, unrealistic childhood crush', as a lot of ignorant people had put it, had blossomed into a magnificent relationship. The couple, being madly in love, got on extremely well. They could talk, very comfortably, about anything with each other. Then why was it they couldn't talk about sex? Why was it that they'd barely even tried to? Maybe it was the fact that they'd been together for so long? Whatever the cause of their anxieties, and however insane those anxieties may have seemed, they were anxieties all the same… and they were an anti-catalyst. Despite this, Wendy knew that taking the first step, though not necessarily making the first move, would destroy them. All it would take was a simple confirmation - the confirmation that Stan felt exactly the same way about sex that she did. That was why Wendy had put herself on the spot. That confirmation would come at Stan's party, or not at all.  
  
She continued on down the street, staring at the sparkling pavements under her feet. Her own reflection, though a little blurred, looked back. Lifting her gaze ahead of her, Wendy spotted her house in the distance. It loomed, detached, on the horizon; close to the perimeter of the residential area. After walking a little while longer, crossing a few small streets along the way, Wendy arrived at her house. It had a greyish-green paintjob, with a large garage of the same shade standing separately. A long garden path meandered across the extensive front lawn, eventually coming to a confluence with the sidewalk. Wendy cut onto the path, following it up to the front door. She unzipped the front of her coat, reaching into her inside pocket and fumbling about for her key. She fished out a large bundle of bronze, silver and gold keys, thumbing through them until she came to the front door key. She slid it into the keyhole, turning it until the lock clicked and opened. She pushed the door agape, stepped through it.  
  
As she stepped into the house, Wendy was bathed in warmth. She and her mom had an expensive central heating system, which welcomed you home like a loyal family pet. Wendy walked into the living room. It was neat and perfectly organised, just as her mom liked it. Whilst a grey carpet lay on the floor, pink wallpaper covered the walls seamlessly. A television stood against one wall; and a large red sofa against the other, beneath a framed photo of a group of sunflowers. Ms Testaburger was sitting on it, thumbing through a woman's magazine. Everything about her, just like everything around her, was neat and tidy. She was in her mid-forties; with short black hair wore in a small bun, and deep green eyes - just like those of her daughter, if a little weaker. She was wearing a plain white shirt beneath a blue jacket, and a long brown skirt. Noticing Wendy's presence, Ms Testaburger looked up and smiled.  
  
"Hello, Sweetheart," she said, closing over the magazine temporarily. Wendy smiled, though a little unenthusiastically.  
  
"Hey, mom," she said, looking down at the grey carpet. A look of concern crossed Ms Testaburger's face.  
  
"What's the matter, Wendy?" She asked. Wendy shook her head.  
  
"N-nothing, I'm fine," she replied, lying. She forced a smile, and then attempted to change the subject. "Um, how was your day?" Ms Testaburger, a little suspicious, raised an eyebrow; but she cooperated nonetheless.  
  
"It was okay," she began, "I spent most of the morning cleaning up the house, and then I went to work for a few hours. What about you?" Wendy shrugged.  
  
"The usual, I suppose," she replied. "I'm, I'm going to go do my homework now, I'll see you in a little while." Ms Testaburger nodded, and Wendy turned and walked back into the hall. She ascended the stairs, her footsteps growing faint, until Ms Testaburger heard Wendy's bedroom door open and close. She looked concerned, but tried to go back to reading. Something seemed up with Wendy… she wasn't usually so downbeat. Ms Testaburger attempted to shake off the feeling, reverting her gaze back to the magazine, but it only returned with added intensity. Knowing that she was probably just being paranoid, Ms Testaburger ignored it and focussed all of her energy onto the glossy pages.  
  
----------  
  
Wendy's room was, for the most-part, quite girly. A deep reddish-brown carpet was laid out on the floor, and her walls were papered a dull pink. Her bed sat against the wall and alongside a window, looking out onto the back garden. A small table sat alongside it, heavy beneath many photos of those closest to Wendy - like Stan and her mom. Like just about every other bedroom in South Park, a wardrobe was built into one of the walls; a delicate pattern carved it's wooden frame and sliding doors. Wendy was sprawled out on top of her quilt, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her hair flowed onto the quilt, forming what appeared to be a jet-black river. Her beret and shoes lay on the floor, beside her bed. Nothing new had crossed her mind since the walk home. Wendy listened carefully, as she heard her mom ascending the stairs. Her footsteps grew louder, until she was outside the room. She rapped gently on the bedroom door.  
  
"Wendy?" She called, "Wendy, can I come in?" Wendy, half-expecting her mom to gaze straight through the door, nodded her approval. Somehow, Ms Testaburger sensed this, and eased the door ajar. She walked slowly across the room to Wendy's bed, sitting herself down at the foot of it. The gradient of the bed shifted, and Wendy's eyes flicked over to where her mom was sitting. Once again, she looked a little concerned. "You don't seem so good, Sweetheart," Ms Testaburger began, "are you feeling okay?" Wendy shrugged.  
  
"I guess so - I don't feel ill," she replied, her gaze again returning to the ceiling. She continued to stare at it in contemplative silence. Ms Testaburger sighed.  
  
"I didn't mean that, Wendy," she said. "I meant, is everything okay? Are you having any problems in school, or anything like that?" Wendy shrugged again.  
  
"Nah, not at school… everything's fine at school," she replied. Ms Testaburger, seemingly not getting anywhere, took another guess. She cleared her throat.  
  
"Well, then are you having any… relationship problems?" The whole room, immediately after the question, fell into acute silence. No words were exchanged for a few seconds - the lack of them was confirmation enough. Ms Testaburger sighed. "What's the problem, then? Are you and Stan not getting along… somehow?" Wendy shook her head.  
  
"Don't be stupid, mom!" Wendy exclaimed, almost bolting upright. However, she remained lying down, and then continued to speak. "Stan and I are getting on great… nothing wrong there." Ms Testaburger sighed again.  
  
"If you're getting along great, then what's the problem?" Wendy didn't reply. Ms Testaburger thought for a few moments, and then it hit her. "Alright… you're having sexual problems?"  
  
"So we've finally stopped dancing around the obvious?" Wendy asked, still staring up at the ceiling. "You could say that we were having 'sexual problems'…" Ms Testaburger, relieved that she'd finally broken through her daughter's defence, looked over at her. She threw her such a look as if to say, 'please continue'. Wendy, getting the idea, did just that. "Well, it - it's not that we're having 'sexual problems'…"  
  
"Then what is it?" Ms Testaburger asked. Wendy sat up and propped herself up against the wall. She glanced over at her mom, who was looking concerned.  
  
"It's just, well, I guess I'm afraid of… taking it further with Stan," Wendy began. Her mom looked ready to interrupt, so she continued. "I mean, I want to… but I'm really, really nervous…" Wendy thought for a few moments. "This is so embarrassing…" Ms Testaburger, smiling, eventually spoke.  
  
"It's okay, Wendy," she began, her voice filled with understanding. "It's common for kids your age to be nervous about sex - I was the same… and I felt embarrassed talking about it, too." Wendy sighed, her gaze falling to her quilt.  
  
"Then, then… what should I do?" She asked. Ms Testaburger fell silent, obviously thinking. After a short while, she spoke.  
  
"I think that the best thing to do is to talk with Stan about it… even if you do feel embarrassed. I'm sure he feels the same way." Wendy nodded.  
  
"That's what I was planning on doing…" Wendy trailed off. "Oh, that reminds me - Stan's throwing a party on Friday, and he asked me to come and stay overnight. Is that alright with you?"  
  
"Of course it is," she began, smiling. "Maybe you could have… err, talk to… Stan at the party?" Wendy nodded.  
  
"Yeah, like I said, that's what I was planning on doing…" Wendy smiled. "Thanks for being so understanding mom," she said, "I thought you would've freaked-out, when you found out that I'd been thinking about sex, that is…" Ms Testaburger shook her head.  
  
"Don't be crazy," she began, "like I said, I was exactly the same at your age. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I was having sex at your age… and, up until just now, I thought that you and Stan were already having sex, too…"  
  
"Well, I'm just glad that I was able to get it out of my system," Wendy admitted. Ms Testaburger, nodding and smiling, rose from the foot of the bed. "Though it doesn't really help with my anxieties…" Ms Testaburger turned to face her daughter.  
  
"It's not going to," she began. "I can give you all of the advice in the world but, at the end of the day, the only people who can help you overcome your anxieties are Stan and yourself." She smiled. "Once you get going, you'll be flying - trust me." Wendy smiled too and, with that, Ms Testaburger slipped out of the room.  
  
Wendy collapsed back onto the bed, sighing. That talk had helped her out… if only a little. She'd kept her thoughts on sex to herself up until this point, and it felt good to finally get them off of her chest. At least now her mom knew about everything, and it was a huge relief that she was so understanding. To tell the truth, Wendy hadn't expected that - her mom had always come across as a very straight-laced person. She continued to stare up at the ceiling… so much was going through her mind. It was only late afternoon but, having nothing better to do, she decided to take a rest. Her eyelids, like the corrugated iron shutters of a shop, slammed shut. Wendy hadn't really thought about it beforehand, but she was really tired…  
  
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The next morning came quickly, the sun erupting suddenly like an giant orange geyser in the darkness of the night, it's blazing silhouette protruding over the majestic backdrop of the jagged mountains. The rooster, as it had done everyday before, welcomed the sun's arrival with an enthusiastic cry. Strangely enough, it hadn't rained or even snowed during the night; and this day was to be that rare occasion… when South Park appeared in it's true form. The golden rays of the sun sparkled on the leaves of the trees which, without snow to blanket them, were a lush green. The cheerful singing of the birds, coupled with the growing light, helped to awaken the people of the town. The morning had all the makings of something special, even if it was to be just another day in South Park. It was Wednesday - the midpoint of the business week.  
  
Wendy's eyes flickered open. A triumphant light shone brightly through her bedroom window, and she attempted to shield her eyes. She had forgotten to close the curtains the previous night. She looked down at herself, and saw that she was lying, fully clothed, on top of her bedding. She had obviously forgotten to undress and prepare for bed, too. She yawned, sitting up and rubbing her heavy eyes. She glanced over at her clock, which hung on the wall above the doorframe. It read '7:00 AM'. Perfect timing.  
  
Wendy hauled herself up from the bed, feeling a little unsteady. She took her shoes and beret from the side of the bed, and then walked across the room to her wardrobe. Sliding the wooden door open, she fished out her usual attire and headed out of her bedroom. The curtains on the landing were still closed, and Wendy relaxed her eyes. She walked slowly across to the bathroom, turning the brass doorknob and stepping inside. The bathroom was a little nicer than most in South Park. The floor was covered with deep blue carpet, and the walls with dull pink wallpaper. A ceramic sink was built onto the wall, which was opposite the door. A circular mat lay at the foot of the sink, and a large mirror hung above it. Wendy smiled briefly. When she was younger, she had needed a stool to reach it and see her own reflection. Next to the sink was the toilet, which sat alongside a towel rack. The large bath sat against the right-hand wall, bordered with turquoise ceramic tiles. A shower curtain hung from a rack above it. Obviously, the bath doubled out as a shower.  
  
Wendy closed the bathroom door over, locking it from the inside. She took her clean clothes and beret, and then hung them up on a peg, which was nailed onto the door. She undressed clumsily in her drowsiness, eventually removing her dirty clothes. She shoved them in the plastic washing basket, which sat behind the door. She stumbled back over to the bath, switching the shower on. Immediately, warm water sprayed out of the head, pattering softly against the base of the bath. Wendy stepped over the side of the bath and into the path of the water, closing the shower curtain in one swift motion.  
  
Wendy sighed, as the warm water ran through her hair and over her body like a pleasant sensation. For a few minutes, she simply stood there. She found that, when she showered first thing in the morning, especially when she was tired, her mind just went blank. Or maybe it didn't go blank. Maybe she just enjoyed the soothing feeling. Whatever the case, she always spent more time in the shower than she had intended as a result of this. Eventually snapping out of the strange trance, Wendy reached over for the shampoo and shower gel. She washed her hair and her body as quickly as possible, before switching the shower off and drawing the curtain. She stepped out of the bath and onto the mat, grabbing an orange towel from the towel rack. Wendy dried off completely almost as quickly as she had showered, and then dressed with comparative speed. She looked over at the digital clock, which sat high up on a wooden shelf. It read '7:40 AM'… already? Wendy grumbled, realising that she had spent too long in the shower again.  
  
Wendy headed back to her room. As she passed her small table, she picked up a brush, comb and miniature mirror, before sitting down on her bed. She took up the brush, and ran it roughly through her hair. She watched herself in the mirror, organising her messy hair into something that resembled it's usual form. When she'd finished brushing, Wendy began combing her hair. Despite the repetitiveness of the task, she actually enjoyed combing. Unlike brushing, it was a more soothing experience. She didn't have to think of anything and so, even if only for a few minutes, she could enjoy a little peace-of-mind. She hummed to herself quietly, arranging her hair into a straight, jet-black curtain. Her hair was soft and, thanks to the conditioner she'd used, it shimmered. It looked nice, and Stan often told her so. Wendy smiled to herself. 'Your hair looks nice' - that seemed to be one of Stan's favourite lines, and he'd used it ever since they were little kids. When she'd finished combing, Wendy placed her equipment back on the bedside table. She ran her fingers through her hair. There were no clumps or knots… almost perfect. Very long, soft, flowing hair; a beautiful black river, running right down to the very bottom of her back.  
  
Wendy stood up, taking her beret from beside her. She looked at it strangely. She often wondered why she even wore it. She was definitely the only girl in the school who wore a hat regularly, but it helped in the wintry weather. She had worn it ever since she were a kid, and had taken to it. Stan, too, had commented on how well a beret suits her. For those two reasons alone, Wendy had continued wearing it. She didn't put it on, but simply carried it out of her room with her. She walked across the brown carpet of the landing, trudging down the stairs. By the sound of things, her mom was already up.  
  
In the living room, the television set was switched on; the sound of the early morning breakfast news flooding the room. Ignoring it, Wendy headed through the living room and into the kitchen. Her mom was standing over the kitchen sink, washing dishes. The radio, sitting in the far corner of the room, chattered to itself quietly, blurring out the occasional tune. Sensing her daughter's presence, Ms Testaburger turned her head slightly. She smiled.  
  
"Good morning, Wendy," she said, speaking over the combined racket of the dishes and the radio. Wendy, too, smiled a little.  
  
"Good morning, mom," she replied, sitting down at the kitchen table. She took her beret, which she'd carried down from her room, and placed it in front of her. Ms Testaburger, having finished cleaning the dishes, began to dry her hands off on a small towel.  
  
"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you," she began, throwing the towel down onto the worktop. "I was listening to the radio earlier and, apparently, the school is closed today."  
  
"Huh?" Wendy looked up from the table. "It is?" Her mom nodded, and Wendy looked a little bemused. "How come?"  
  
"I'm not really too sure," Ms Testaburger began, beginning to stack the clean dishes into the cupboard. They clanked together loudly. "All I remember is that the school is closed for today." She paused for a few seconds. "I guess I should've told you before you'd gotten up." Wendy shook her head.  
  
"Nah, that's okay," she began. "I'm up and ready now, so I guess there's no point complaining." Wendy smiled. "Besides, I've got the whole day off school." As Cartman had found out the previous day, there was nothing better than an unexpected break from school time - even if it was only for a day. "I suppose I'll go watch TV, or something." Ms Testaburger nodded.  
  
"Alright, Sweetheart. Do you want a cup of coffee, or something?" She asked. Wendy thought for a few moments, rising from the table.  
  
"Um… yeah, okay," she replied, smiling. Ms Testaburger nodded, heading back over to the sink to fill the kettle. Wendy walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. She slouched down onto the large red sofa, feeling quite relaxed. She reached for the remote control, which was sitting on a table beside the sofa. She began flicking through the channels, looking for something even mildly entertaining to watch. Chances were, with the usual early morning television schedule, she wasn't going to come across anything. In the end, she decided to settle for the news. It was hardly entertaining, and the droning voice of the presenter made Wendy yawn. Even after showering, she was still feeling a little tired. She put her feet up on the sofa, stretching out a little. After a few minutes, her mom walked in from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of coffee. Wendy sat up, and her mom handed her one. "Thanks, mom."  
  
"No problem, Wendy," Ms Testaburger said, smiling. She walked back out into the kitchen, sitting down at the table. She took a magazine, and began thumbing through the pages. Wendy took a sip of her own coffee, before setting the mug down on the table. She lay back on the sofa again, sighing. She had a whole day off school. It was a rare break, and she was determined not to waste it…  
  
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Closing A/N  
  
Okay, that's the end of Chapter 5, and I have a few things to explain. First off, I'm well aware that I promised to try and include much more dialogue in this fan fiction. This was evident during the previous chapter. In Chapter 5, however, I didn't feel the need to use a whole lot of dialogue (though there was a little of it). Also, I think I'm beginning to focus on Stan and Wendy's situation more than I originally intended, and it's fast becoming the major storyline. I'll try and give it a rest in the future, but I'm not gonna promise anything.  
  
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Don't forget to review, guys! 


	6. The Free Day

Opening A/N  
  
Now, before I begin writing the sixth chapter of 'High School Escapades', there is something I would like to address…  
  
I'm aware that a few people were confused by the closing of the school in the previous chapter. Originally, I'd planned on closing the school because of a boiler malfunction (y'know, due to extreme cold). However, by the time I'd come to writing this, I'd already described the weather overnight as 'fine'. Therefore, the boiler could not possibly have exploded. To cut a long story short, I'd not planned as well as I should have done - sorry!  
  
Now, back to Chapter 6, entitled 'The Free Day'. Thanks to the closing of the school, everyone now has a day off. Obviously, they don't want to waste it; and so they all decide to do some stuff together… even Cartman.  
  
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. At this point in my A/N, I usually remind you all to review. This time, however, I'd like to thank all of my more consistent reviewers for their support - that's Random-George, Raspberry Girl 90, Robert 3, Sugar Daddy Stan and Tigger 56 Bounce, by the way (sorry if I've missed anyone out but, if you've actually reviewed, then you have my thanks).  
  
Don't forget to review, people!  
  
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Stan was slumped at the table, his upper body hanging over a bowl of cornflakes like a limp marionette. His hat was plopped lopsidedly onto his head, his black hair, though sleek and clean from a recent shower, protruding messily from beneath it. Huge bags hung under his eyes like garden hammocks, heavy enough to pull his face down into his hands. Only his elbows, though tired and weak, propped him up; preventing his face from joining his cereal. Every so often, they'd suddenly give way, and he'd have to call upon every ounce of strength in his body to haul himself back into an upright position, or a semi-upright position, at least. Stan looked down at his cornflakes. After festering for twenty minutes or so in the warm milk, they'd gone very soggy, and were no longer even partly desirable. He grabbed his spoon, which felt like a small weight in his hand, and plunged it into the bowl. Groaning, he pushed body the bowl and the spoon aside. It was fair to say that he wasn't in the best of moods. Sure, he'd heard that the school had been closed; but the fact that his parents had confined him to a day of chores kind of put a damper on it. Sighing, Stan lay his head down on the table, closed his eyes, and prepared to go to sleep…  
  
A few minutes later, Randy Marsh stumbled wearily into the kitchen from the living room. Although he'd been awake for an hour or so, he was still lounging about the house in his turquoise robe. He was carrying a large, steaming mug, presumable filled with coffee, in his right hand, and the morning newspaper in his left. Scratching the mat of disorganised, messy black hair on his head, Randy walked across the room. As he lay his mug and newspaper down on the table, he noticed that Stan was sleeping there. Grinning, he leaned over, grabbed his shoulders, and then began shaking him violently.  
  
"Hey, Stan! Wake up!" He yelled, trying his best not to laugh. "Wake up! Wake up!" For one reason or another, Randy found the whole thing very funny. That was until Stan eventually did wake up. Startled, he bolted upright, and the back of his head collided with Randy's chin with a heavy thud. "Ow! Shit!"  
  
"Argh! Fucking Hell!" Stan groaned, rubbing the back of his head. Already, a large bump was beginning to form there. "What's the Hell is the big idea, dad?!" Randy was clutching his chin, and so found it hard to talk.  
  
"I… was trying to… wake you… up," he began, groaning as he spoke. "But… YOU head-butted… me!" Stan, shocked that he was getting the blame, quickly retaliated.  
  
"What do you mean, 'but I head-butted you'?!" He exclaimed. "It wasn't my fucking fault! I wouldn't have 'head-butted' you if you weren't being such a dickhole!" Randy's eyes widened.  
  
"I… wasn't being a… 'dickhole'!" He argued back, still clutching his chin. "I was trying… to wake… you up! You… shouldn't have been sleeping… on the… table!"  
  
"I wouldn't have been sleeping on the table if you hadn't woken me up in the first place, despite knowing that the school was closed and that I didn't even have to be up!" Stan shouted, raising his voice. Randy, defeated, stormed out of the room, kicking a kitchen chair over as he passed it. Stan grumbled to himself, and then thumped the surface of the table with his fist.  
  
There was, as was obvious before, during, and after that encounter, an air of bitterness and general unpleasantness hanging about the Marsh household. From the moment that Stan's parents had woken him up for no good reason, and then ruined his day by assigning a Hell of a lot of chores, he'd been doing his best to act like a real asshole. No good reason… except to spite them. Both he and his dad knew that their argument was completely unnecessary, but each of them just wanted an excuse to let the other have it. Sure, Randy hadn't originally intended on pissing his son off, nor did he really think that he'd head-butted him. Once again, he just wanted an excuse to let off steam, and Stan had given him the perfect opportunity to. Stan again lay his head down on the table, again closed his eyes, and again prepared to go to sleep…  
  
Just then, the telephone began to ring. In his mood, it seemed to Stan that the phone was screaming at him. Almost screaming in frustration himself, he pulled his hat down over his ears, attempting to drown out the sound and ignore it. After a few seconds, he rose from the table with such a jolt that his anger was blatantly evident. Storming over to the phone, he tore it up from it's hook.  
  
"What?!" He almost yelled into the receiver.  
  
"Jesus Christ!" Came the startled reply. "Did I catch you at a bad time or something, dude?" Stan, realising who it was, immediately calmed down.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry about that, Kyle," he said. "I guess I'm just in a bad mood, so I suppose you could say that you caught me at a bad time, yeah."  
  
"It's alright, dude," Kyle replied. "But, how could you possibly be in a bad mood?! Haven't you heard about the school?"  
  
"Yeah." Stan yawned, scratching the back of his head. He propped himself up against the wall, alongside the phone.  
  
"Then what are you so pissed off about?" Kyle asked, a little confused. "We've got the whole day off school, dude, you should be pleased!"  
  
"I know that," Stan began, "the school's closed, but I don't really have the whole day off to do what I want."  
  
"What do you mean?" Stan sighed.  
  
"Well, it's a long story," he began. "My parents heard about the school being closed, but they woke me up anyway. I got washed and ready for school, and then they told me that it was closed. I guess I was happy at first, but then I asked them why'd they'd woken me up if they knew that the school was closed…"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Because they want me to do a Hell of a lot of chores today, and they knew that I wouldn't have gotten up to do them if they'd told me that the school was closed. Those bastards." Kyle gasped.  
  
"Oh, dude! That's a dirty fucking trick!" Stan nodded.  
  
"I know," he began, "that's why I'm so pissed off. There's no way that I'm spending my entire free day doing gay ass chores!" Stan paused for a moment. "So, what's this all about anyway, Kyle?"  
  
"Well, me and the guys are gonna go check out that new arcade in the mall; and then we're gonna go to Happy Burger, or something," Kyle began, "and I wanted to know if you'd be coming along, too." Stan groaned.  
  
"You know I'd love to, dude," he began, "but I've got those chores to do."  
  
"Maybe you can get outta doing them, or something?" Kyle suggested. Stan again paused for a moment, and then shook his head.  
  
"I doubt it," he began, "but I guess it's worth a try…" Stan heard someone descending the stairs. "Here comes someone now, I'll be right back, dude." Slowly, he put the phone down on the table.  
  
Just then, Stan's mother, Sharon, walked into the kitchen from the living room. She was quite small, with short brown hair and similarly-coloured eyes. Fully dressed, she was wearing a brown sweatshirt (with red trimmings), and a pair of dark blue trousers. She walked across the kitchen, slamming her mug of coffee down on the table. She was pissed-off, and Stan gulped. Unlike Randy, Sharon had a very powerful character. It was almost impossible to argue with her… especially when she was in a bad mood. Stan, figuring that it was worth a try, cleared his throat.  
  
"Mom?" He caught her attention, and she looked over at him. The look on her face said that she was, indeed, pissed-off.  
  
"What is it, Stanley?" She asked, her voice filled with a kind of bitterness. Stan again scratched the back of his head, quite nervously.  
  
"Err… the guys are going to the arcade, and then to Happy Burger," Stan began, "and they want me to go with them…" Sharon groaned.  
  
"Let me guess," she began, still sounding bitter, "you want to know if you can get out of your chores, so that you can go with them?" Stan, after a few moments of hesitation, nodded quickly.  
  
"Yeah… kinda…" he replied. Sharon took her mug up from the table, almost smashing it down into the kitchen sink. Just like everyone else in the house, she was really pissed off about something.  
  
"Do what you want, Stanley," she said, not looking at him. Stan smiled briefly, but Sharon had yet to finish. "But don't think that you're getting out of those chores - if they're not done by the end of the day, you're grounded for a month." Stan nodded.  
  
"Alright… thanks, mom," he walked back over to the phone, picking it up from the table and holding it to his face. "Good news, dude," he began, "I've gotten outta those chores… for the moment, at least."  
  
"Well, that's good to hear," Kyle replied, still on the other end of the line. "Now I won't have to spend my whole day with Cartman and, on top of that, I've got another ass to kick at the arcade!" Stan laughed.  
  
"Yeah…" he trailed off, before catching on to what Kyle had said. "Hey, wait a minute…" Kyle laughed, interrupting his friend.  
  
"Forget I said that, dude," he said, before pausing. "Like I said, we'll be going to Happy Burger as well - do you have enough money?" Stan thought for a few moments.  
  
"Yeah," he replied, nodding, "I think I've got twenty dollars upstairs… somewhere." He laughed. "It's gonna take me a while to find, though - my room's in a mess!"  
  
"That doesn't matter, dude," Kyle began, "we won't be leaving for at least another hour, so you've got plenty of time!" Stan nodded again.  
  
"I know, I know," he looked up at the clock. It read '10:27 AM'. "Well, I'd better go now - I've got quite a few things that I need to get done before we leave."  
  
"Alright," Kyle said, "I'll see you later, dude."  
  
"Later, Kyle," Stan replied. Hearing Kyle hang up, Stan put the phone down himself. He yawned, scratching the back of his head, and walked out of the kitchen. All of a sudden, things were starting to look up again…  
  
----------  
  
"Goddamn it!" Cartman was kneeling in front of his chest-of-drawers, rummaging through the contents. Some of the drawers had been ragged out and emptied onto the floor, with articles ranging from t-shirts to underpants strewn about the room. It looked as if the chest-of-drawers had been blown apart, but it was just that Cartman had lost his socks… and, in searching for them, most of his mind. "I know they're around here someplace!" He pulled out the final drawer and began looking through it, but, having no success, he tossed the contents onto his bedroom floor. Cartman was getting really pissed-off. He looked across the room to where Kenny was sleeping. His friend, and new housemate, was lying in Cartman's sleeping bag, snoring loudly. He'd woken up earlier that morning but, when he'd heard that the school was closed, promptly went back to sleep. Cartman stormed across the room, arriving at Kenny's spot and kicking him in the side. "Kenny! Wake the Hell up, you poor piece of crap!" He kicked him again, this time with a little more, and Kenny bolted upright.  
  
"Holy shit!" He exclaimed, a look of alarm slapped across his face. He shook his head a few times, waking himself up, and then glared at Cartman. "What are you doing, you fat turd?!"  
  
"Kenny, where the fuck have you put my socks?!" Kenny shot him a bemused glance, but Cartman shook his head. "Don't give me that 'I don't know what you're talking about' look, you Goddamn POV!"  
  
"I don't know where your fucking socks are, you fat bastard!" Kenny began, his expression darkening, "what makes you think that I would?!" Cartman rolled his eyes.  
  
"Because, dumb ass, you're the only other person I share a room with! Does it really take that much to figure it out?! Jeez!" Kenny growled, and then looked down at Cartman's feet.  
  
"I'm not sure," he began, grinning slightly, "but it obviously takes a lot more to realise that your socks on are your fucking feet!" Cartman raised his eyebrow, and then looked down. His socks were, indeed, on his feet.  
  
"I'm going to get something to eat," Cartman said, bluntly and emotionlessly. He turned his back and began to walk towards his bedroom door.  
  
"Wait a minute," Kenny said, lying back down again. "The school's closed, remember?! Why are you in such a hurry to get ready?" Cartman sighed.  
  
"Because all of those Goddamn hippies, like Stan, are going to arcade… and then they're going to Happy Burger. And we're going with them, duh!" Kenny's eyes widened, and he immediately shot to his feet.  
  
"What?!" He exclaimed, "why the fuck didn't you tell me?!" By this time, Cartman had already left the room, and so didn't hear Kenny's question. Kenny, grabbing some of his clothes, rushed out of the room himself, slamming the door behind him.  
  
----------  
  
Wendy was still sitting up on her sofa, watching television, and occasionally sipping coffee from the mug in her hands. The morning news still droned on, repeating the same stories over and over again. It was a good job that Wendy had some caffeine, otherwise she would've most certainly fallen asleep again by now! She yawned, sinking deeper into the soft sofa. It was very comfortable… possibly even more so than her own bed. Then again, it did cost a pretty penny. At that moment, Ms Testaburger walked into the room from the kitchen. Setting her own mug of coffee down on the table beside the sofa, she sat down alongside her daughter. For quite a while, neither of them spoke - they just sat and watched the television, even though they both felt that the news was incredibly dull…  
  
"So," Ms Testaburger began, eventually ending the deadlock of silence. "Do you have a good sleep last night, Sweetheart?" Wendy thought for a moment, and then shook her head.  
  
"Not really," she replied, "I was so tired that I forgot to close the curtains, undress, or even make use of my bed sheets." She paused. "I guess I was just real tired." Ms Testaburger nodded.  
  
"I knew that when I spoke to you after school yesterday," she began, "you really looked it." She paused. "You've had a lot on your mind." Wendy, too, nodded.  
  
"Yeah…" once again, the room fell into silence. Mainly because of the conversation with her daughter the previous night, Ms Testaburger found the silence to be incredibly uncomfortable. After a few seconds, she decided to break it…  
  
"Are you watching this?" She asked, motioning towards the television set. Wendy shook her head and Ms Testaburger, taking the remote control in her hand, began flicking through the channels. "So," she began, "do you have anything planned for today?" Wendy thought for a moment, and then shrugged.  
  
"No, not really," she replied, taking another sip of coffee from her mug. "I don't really have anything to do so, unless Bebe or someone decides to call, I guess I'll just sit around here." After another beat of silence, Ms Testaburger spoke again…  
  
"Oh, okay…" she trailed off, "I suppose it'll do you good to take a rest and save some of your energy - especially with that party coming up on Friday…" Wendy nodded.  
  
"I guess it might…" she sighed, and Ms Testaburger, concerned, looked over. "It's just that, well, I'm still really nervous about it. Our talk last night didn't help all that much…" Ms Testaburger nodded.  
  
"I know, I know," she began. "Like I said last night, the only thing that you can do about your anxieties is, well… it." Wendy nodded and then, after a brief pause, shook her head.  
  
"I find it hard to believe," she began, sounding a little downbeat. "I find it hard to believe that, even after so long together, Stan and I still aren't completely comfortable…" Ms Testaburger shook her head.  
  
"Now, Wendy, it's perfectly normal for a couple to be nervous and uncomfortable about their first time… especially if they haven't really talked about it." She paused for a moment. "And I suppose that, if you've been together since you were very young, it's going to be even harder."  
  
"How's that?" Wendy asked, looking and sounding a little bemused.  
  
"You two were together when you were kids," Ms Testaburger began, "to be honest, I didn't expect you to last any longer than the fourth grade…" she paused for a moment. "But then, you just kept on going. And, as you did, your relationship got more and more serious; your first real kiss, your first date…" she trailed off. "Now you two are thinking about sex. Just think about it - you started off as two lovesick nine year old kids, and now you're thinking about sex. I can't even imagine how strange it must be…" Wendy thought for a moment, and then nodded.  
  
"You're right," she began, "I remember when we were only nine, and we weren't that serious at all." She paused, smiling a little. "It is strange that I'm thinking about sex with my childhood crush. I mean, we've known each other since we were nine… since we were little kids - little, innocent kids with no dirty thoughts and no sexual desires or urges." She shook her head, almost in disbelief, "we've come a long way, I guess…"  
  
"Exactly," Ms Testaburger replied. "You have come a long way. You've grown and grown, passing all sorts of milestones and reaching new levels of seriousness. Sex is just another one of those levels, but it's probably the most important and difficult of the lot… especially for a pair like you and Stan - for a pair who've grown up from childhood together." She paused for a moment. "But I suppose that, for a couple like you, the sex must be extra pleasurable…" Wendy laughed.  
  
"Well, that's encouraging!" Before the smile brought on by her laughter had passed, Wendy spoke again. "Thanks, mom," she began, "you've been really supportive over this whole thing…" Ms Testaburger shrugged, and smiled herself.  
  
"That's what I'm here for - to support you," she said. "I suppose you didn't expect this kind of reaction?" Wendy shook her head.  
  
"No, I didn't," she replied. Ms Testaburger laughed a little.  
  
"If you were underage, say about fifteen, and you'd already had sex, then things would've been pretty different! But you're a seventeen year old girl now," she said. "Don't forget, I was in your situation, too, once… except that I didn't have such an understanding mom, or such a great boyfriend." For a few seconds, Ms Testaburger looked a little downbeat, but then quickly cheered back up. "Well, that happened a long time ago, and now I have so much more than I had then." She smiled at Wendy, who smiled back.  
  
"I know," she said. "I guess that, now, all I can do is wait for the party… I'm pretty sure that Stan…" She trailed off, and Ms Testaburger shook her head furiously.  
  
"Look, just don't think about it," she began, "if anything at all, try to look forward to the party. Wendy, I know you, and I know Stan; if you two sit down and talk about it, you'll overcome your dilemma in no time." Ms Testaburger rose from the table, collecting the two empty mugs. "And, when you do, you're gonna have one Hell of a time." She paused for a moment. "I can understand you being nervous about this - I'm sure Stan's the same. But you shouldn't worry about it… because there's nothing to worry about. Stan's a great guy and, chances are, he's thinking about this too." She began walking towards the kitchen. "In the meantime, you should try and concentrate on something else… why don't you go out for a while? It'll do you a whole lot of good." With that, Ms Testaburger walked into the kitchen.  
  
Wendy, lying back down on the sofa, sighed. Her mom, as was always the case with her, was right. It was one thing to be nervous about her first time with Stan, but it was a completely different thing to be worrying about it. But she couldn't really help it - Wendy was so desperate to make her first time with Stan perfect, that the thought of fucking up was too much to bear. Then again, with a body like her own, how could she possibly fuck up? Wendy, sitting back up again, groaned loudly - her mind was all over the place, and so she had to clear her head. Leaning over to the side of the sofa, she reached for the telephone. Lifting the receiver from the hook, she began to dial Bebe's home number. After a few seconds of ringing, Wendy heard someone pick up the phone.  
  
"Hello?" Came Bebe's voice, from the other side of the line.  
  
"Hello, is that you, Bebe?" Wendy asked. She knew quite well that it was Bebe, but she always started telephones conversations by asking such stupid questions.  
  
"Oh, hey, Wendy!" Bebe replied, sounding a little more upbeat all of a sudden. "Thank God you phoned - I was getting SO bored!" Wendy smiled.  
  
"I have a good sense of timing, I guess…" she said. "I was just wondering, seeing as the school's closed, if you wanted to come to the mall, or something?" Bebe didn't hesitate before answering.  
  
"Sure!" She replied, "it's something to do, and I have a little money to burn, anyways." She paused for a few moments. "Speaking of the mall, how come you didn't show up to come with us yesterday? I didn't go myself in the end, but I was just curious…"  
  
"Oh, about that…" Wendy began, scratching the back of her head. "I had a lot on my mind, and fatigue got the better of me…" She paused for a few moments herself. "That's the main reason I wanna do something - I've gotta clear my head, and concentrate on something other than… never mind…" Bebe, for some reason or another, laughed a little.  
  
"Okay," she said. "Seeing as the mall's closer to your place, I'll drop by in about half an hour. Is that alright with you?" Wendy nodded.  
  
"Yeah, it's fine," Wendy replied, "I'll see you in half an hour, then."  
  
"See you later, Wendy," Bebe replied, before hanging up. Upon hear this Wendy, too, hung up. Yawning, she lay back down on the sofa again. Stan's party was fast approaching, and she has a sneaking suspicion that it was going to be the biggest night of her life so far. Wendy needed all the rest she could get and, if resting her body was important, then resting her mind was vital…  
  
----------  
  
Stan was standing in the middle of his room, scratching the back of his head contemplatively. The room itself was a complete mess. Every chest, cabinet and wardrobe had been ransacked; and every pocket in every shirt, jacket and pair of jeans had been turned inside-out. Stan could've sworn that he had twenty dollars… somewhere. He groaned in annoyance, plunging his hands into his pockets. He groaned again but, this time, in disbelief. He drew his left hand from the corresponding pocket and, just as he'd thought, he had grasping two ten dollar bills. His clenched his fist around the bills, and chuckled to himself. He'd completely turned his room on it's head when, for the whole time, the money had been in his pocket.  
  
"Stanley!" Stan heard his mom's voice booming up the stairs, and headed towards his bedroom door. He opened it, popping his head out into the hallway.  
  
"Yeah?" He called.  
  
"Stanley, hurry up - you're friends are here!" His mom yelled back, almost cracking the double-glazed windows. For the same reason, or a completely new one, she was still really pissed off. Stan stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him, and quickly descended the stairs. Sure enough, Kyle was standing in the front doorway.  
  
"Hey," he said, grinning.  
  
"Hey, Kyle," Stan replied, reaching for his hat and gloves, which where hanging on a coat rack beside the front door. Kyle shook his head.  
  
"You won't be needing those, dude," he said, motioning over his shoulder. Stan gazed out into the street, and the weather seemed fine. "It's pretty cool out today." Stan took a second glance at Kyle, and noticed that he wasn't wearing his hat. The weather must've been exceptionally good, because Kyle ALWAYS wore his hat. Also, he was wearing his hair in an abnormal style. Instead of his usual, disorganised mop, Kyle had damped his hair and combed it straight down onto his shoulders. Stan laughed, bypassing his hat and gloves, and stepped out into the street. "What are you laughing at?"  
  
"It's your hair… it looks so weird," Stan replied, "is this some kind of special occasion?" Kyle groaned, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Why is it that every single person I've talked to today has said that? Does it really look that bad?" Stan shook his head, laughing again.  
  
"Nah," he began, as the two started down the garden path. "It just looks unusual," he paused for a few moments. "What makes you think it looks that bad?"  
  
"Cartman told me," Kyle replied, grinning. Stan looked shocked.  
  
"And you believed him?" He asked, shaking his head in disgust. "You're, like, the second smartest person I know… and you actually listened to Cartman?! I'm disappointed in you, Kyle!"  
  
"Hey! Wait a minute!" Kyle began, looking a little insulted. "What do you mean, 'the second smartest person I know'?" Stan laughed.  
  
"Okay, let me put it this way…" he began. "Aside from Wendy, you're the smartest person I know." He paused. "But don't get me wrong, I'm not just saying that Wendy's the smartest person I know just because she's my girlfriend!" Kyle thought for a few moments.  
  
"You could've at least pretended," Kyle said. "That you were saying that Wendy's the smartest person you know because she's your girlfriend, that is." Stan, too, thought for a few moments, and then shrugged.  
  
"Whatever," he replied, as he and Kyle arrived at the foot of the garden path, walking out onto the sidewalk. Cartman, Kenny, Butters and Tweek were waiting for them. Stan noticed another guy, too, standing amongst the crowd. Well, he wasn't exactly standing, but propped up on two odd-looking crutches. Stan's eyes widened.  
  
The guy was quite short and podgy, with messy brown hair which looked like a large, upturned bowl atop his head, and far out brown eyes. He was wearing a long-sleeved yellow shirt, and baggy light blue jeans. His name was Jimmy Valmer, and he was once South Park's resident cripple. However, at the end of middle school, he and his parents had moved to Denver. Jimmy had always fancied himself as quite the comedian but, because of his gigantic speech impediment, his jokes suffered. Besides, they were hardly ever funny… at all. Noticing Stan, he smiled widely and revealed a set of braces.  
  
"Long time no s-see, S-S-Stan," he said, stuttering.  
  
"Holy shit!" Stan spluttered, sounding as surprised as he looked. He shook his head, as if trying to wake himself up from a non-existent dream. "Jimmy?! Is that you?!"  
  
"No," Cartman scoffed, very sarcastically. Stan threw him an angry glance, and then turned his attentions back to his handicapped friend.  
  
"It's been, like, four years, dude!" He said, "what are you doing back here in South Park? He asked, as he and the boys started off down the street.  
  
"Lets just s-say that D-Denver isn't all it's cracked up to be, S-Stan," Jimmy began. "My parents ran into financial p-pro… my p-parents ran into financial p-problem… r-ran into financial p-problems, and we had to s-se… we h-had to s-se…" He screwed up his face, stumbling on almost every word, and so Kyle helped him out.  
  
"They had to sell their place in Denver," he said, interrupting. Jimmy smiled gratefully, and Kyle continued. "They made enough extra money to pay for a room at that 'Super Seven Motel'. Y'know, the one down on Bernard Road?" Stan nodded.  
  
"Yeah, I know the one," he replied, laughing a little. "It's a fucking mess! I thought that they'd torn it down a long time ago, to be honest…"  
  
"My d-dad is a friend of the owner, s-so we got a s-sp… so w-we got a s-spec… w-we g-got a s-special d-deal," Jimmy began, as the boys closed in on the main street. "My p-parents are already looking for j-jobs, and we should be able to afford an apartment in n-no time."  
  
"Anyway," Kyle continued, "I heard that he'd moved back in this morning, so I invited him along with us… I mean, he does have a lot of catching up to do, after all." Stan nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he said, laughing a little. "Well, I'm throwing a party on Friday," he continued, "I think you should come along - it'll give you a great opportunity to catch up with everyone else." Jimmy thought for a moment, and then nodded enthusiastically.  
  
"T-That's a great idea, S-S-Stan," he replied. "It's been a long time since I went to a p-party." He paused for a moment. "Y-You can count m-me in." Stan grinned.  
  
"And what about you guys?" He asked, turning to face Cartman, Butters and Tweek. They all threw him bemused glances… though Cartman's bemusement was as convincing as it was authentic. Stan sighed. "Weren't you listening? I'm throwing a party on Friday, are you guys gonna come?"  
  
"Well, it's about Goddamn time!" Cartman blurted that out with such abruptness, that it was as if he'd been holding it beneath his breath for his entire life. "I've known about the party since Monday, and I've been waiting fucking days for you to tell me about if yourself! You're damn straight I'll come!" Stan turned his attentions to Butters and Tweek.  
  
"Uh… I don't know, Stan" Butters began, twiddling his thumbs unsurely. "You know that I don't drink… a-and, besides, I don't think my parents would like me g-going to a high school party…" Tweek nodded.  
  
"Argh! Yeah," he said, twitching violently. "And there's no way I'm going near alcohol! You've seen what caffeine does to me; but you don't even wanna know what alcohol does, man!" Stan rolled his eyes.  
  
"You guys, just because you're at a party doesn't mean that you've gotta drink alcohol!" Stan said, "I mean, I'm not gonna drink any…" he trailed off, scratching the back of his head anxiously.  
  
"Y-You're not gonna drink any a-alcohol, Stan?" Butters asked, looking bemused. "H-How come? Don't your parents like you drinking, either?" Stan didn't reply. "Uh… Stan?" Stan shook his head furiously.  
  
"It's none of your business, Butters!" He snapped, though he hadn't meant to. He paused for a few seconds, instantly feeling bad. "Look, forget I said that, Butters," he began. "I've just got a lot of… important stuff on my mind, and I'm a bit stressed-out." Butters nodded.  
  
"That's a-alright, Stan," he said, typically forgiving.  
  
"I know what your parents can be like, Butters," Stan began, changing the subject. "They're pretty strict, and I wouldn't want to argue with them, either. But this isn't gonna be one of those crazy high school parties… I hope."  
  
"A-Alright, I'll talk to them," Butters replied. "B-But I'm not promising a-anything… 'cause they're really against high school parties, and stuff like that… e-even if they're not all that crazy…"  
  
"I'll do the same," Tweek began, nodding. "My parents are much cooler about high school parties, so I shouldn't have any trouble." He paused for a moment, twitching. "But just 'cause I'm not gonna drink any alcohol, doesn't mean I'm not gonna drink any coffee. You know I can't last long without coffee, man!" He pointed at his flask. "See?!" Stan nodded, laughing a little. At that point, the boys entered the main street. Unlike the previous day, it was bustling.  
  
"Hey, you guys," Jimmy began, grinning widely. "You w-won't believe some of the f-fan… you won't b-believe some of the f-fantast… some of the f-fantastic jokes I heard in D-Denver!" The boys, knowing that ALL of Jimmy's jokes sucked, groaning in union.  
  
----------  
  
South Park Mall was situated on the perimeter of the town's well-off district. It was a spectacular patchwork of shimmering glass sheets and polished steel girders, sparkling under the rays of the sun. It was linked to the rest of South Park by a long concrete path, which was swarming with would-be shoppers. Wendy and Bebe were walking amongst them.  
  
"So," Bebe began, looking over at her friend. "I've brought about thirty dollars with me, what about you?" Wendy didn't reply, as she was in a world of her own at the time. Bebe cleared her throat. "Uh… Wendy?"  
  
"Huh?" Wendy snapped back to reality. "Sorry, Bebe," she said, looking a little embarrassed. Bebe smiled. "What did you say?"  
  
"I was just wondering how much money you've brought with you," Bebe said. Wendy thought for a moment, and then shook her head.  
  
"Oh… I only brought ten dollars," she replied. The two girls arrived at the entrance of the mall, stepping through the huge glass doors and into the complex.  
  
The interior of the building was just as impressive as the exterior. The ground floor was littered with humble market stalls, selling everything from food to clothing. The other two floors, linked by escalators and elevators, were home to more well-known shopping chains. Each of these had balconies, overlooking the ground floor itself. Wendy and Bebe, upon entering the mall, stopped and looked around.  
  
"Only ten dollars?" Bebe asked, looking a little bemused. "What are you gonna buy with only ten dollars, Wendy?" Wendy shook her head again.  
  
"I'm only planning on buying something to eat," she replied. "To be honest, I only really wanted to come to the mall to clear my head… and to spend some time with my best friend, of course!" Bebe laughed a little.  
  
"I'm glad that you still wanna spend some time with me!" She said. "I mean, over the past few years, we've been spending much more time with our boyfriends than we have with each other…" Wendy nodded, as the two girls started off towards one of the escalators.  
  
"Yeah, I know what you mean," she replied. "When Stan and I were younger, we didn't really do very much together. But now we're closer than we've ever been, and we're virtually inseparable…" Bebe grinned.  
  
"Closer than ever?" She asked, raising an eyebrow, "just how close is that?" Wendy thought for a moment, and then shook her head.  
  
"Don't even go there, Bebe," she said. Bebe laughed.  
  
"I was only kidding, Wendy," she replied. "It's none of my business, anyways…" The two girls stepped onto a escalator and, for a few seconds, neither of them said anything.  
  
"So," Wendy began, eventually breaking the silence, "will you be coming to Stan's party on Friday, Bebe?" Bebe thought for a moment, and then shrugged.  
  
"I didn't even know that Stan was throwing a party…" she replied, Wendy nodded. "Well, I guess I'll go if you are." The two girls stepped off the escalator and onto the second level of the shopping complex. "Because I'll need someone else to hang around with, other than Clyde and his dickhead friends…"  
  
"Huh? 'Dickhead friends'? You mean Craig and Token?" Wendy asked. Bebe nodded.  
  
"Yeah - I can't stand those guys!" She began. "I mean, Craig's a fat asshole who thinks he's God's gift to women, and Token's just really, really arrogant and obnoxious! At least Stan's friends are nice guys…" Wendy nodded.  
  
"I knew I wasn't the only person in South Park to dislike those two!" She said, grinning. "And you're right - Stan's friends are nice guys… except for Cartman, of course!"  
  
"Does he even count as one of 'Stan's friends'?" Bebe asked, laughing. Wendy thought for a few moments, and then shrugged.  
  
"I dunno," she replied, "but I can't imagine Stan, Kyle and Kenny without Cartman…" She and Bebe laughed again, as they passed a clothes shop. Bebe, spotting something in the window, suddenly stopped in her tracks. Wendy walked a few more yards, before she noticed and turned around. "What are you doing, Bebe?"  
  
"Look at this dress, Wendy," Bebe said, pointed at it. Wendy walked over to where her friend was standing, and looked into the window at the dress. It was a red short dress, which appeared to be made of a very fine, silky cotton. It shimmered enticingly, yet Wendy shook her head.  
  
"It's okay, but it's too small…" Bebe grinned.  
  
"So?" Wendy rolled her eyes.  
  
"You're a slut, Bebe!" She said, laughing a little.  
  
"You know me too well!" Bebe replied, laughing too. She looked down at the price tag, which read '$59'. Groaning, she began to walk away, and Wendy quickly followed.  
  
----------  
  
Meanwhile, on the ground floor, the boys had just entered the mall. Stan, Kyle, Cartman, Kenny, Butters and Tweek were trudging alongside each other, whilst Jimmy was scurrying just behind them. There were expressions of extreme boredom all around, and it was obvious that Jimmy was still telling his 'f-fantastic' jokes…  
  
"S-So, anyway, if you guys thought that last j-joke was good, w-wait 'til you hear this one," Jimmy began, clearing his throat. "S-S-So, a guy w-walked into a b… a guy walked into a bar, and then he…" he trailed off. "W-Wait, how did this one g-go again?" Cartman groaned.  
  
"Now, were the Hell is the Goddamn Happy Burger?! I'm fucking starving!" Kenny, walking alongside Cartman, rolled his eyes.  
  
"Cartman, we're going to the Happy Burger AFTER the arcade!" He said. He paused for a few moments. "Besides, it's only been, like, half an hour since we ate breakfast!" Cartman, this time, rolled his eyes.  
  
"You wouldn't understand, Kenny!" He began, sounding impatient. "You were brought up on frozen waffles, for God's sake!" Kenny shot Cartman an angry glance but, thankfully, Stan interrupted before he could do much more.  
  
"Uh… I've just gotta go… pick something up…" he said, beginning to walk away from the group. "I'll catch up with you guys in a few minutes…"  
  
"Wait! Hold on a sec', Stan!" Cartman called, reaching into his pocket. He fished out a dollar bill, handing it over to his friend. "Buy me a chocolate bar while you're there, dude." Stan nodded.  
  
"Yeah, sure," he began, again beginning to walk away from the group. "Like I said, I'll catch up with you guys in a few minutes." Kyle nodded.  
  
"Alright," he said, "see you later, dude." Kyle, Cartman, Kenny, Butters, Tweek and Jimmy disappeared into the huge crowd of shoppers.  
  
Stan sighed, as he began walking off towards the nearest escalator. The main area of the ground floor was, for the most part, littered with market stalls. They sold just about everything; from food to clothes. Stan stopped at one of them, a newsstand, to buy Cartman's chocolate bar. It was basically a large wooden desk, which was creaking beneath several stacks of newspapers and magazines, as well as piles of candy, soft drinks et cetera. The shopkeeper himself was short and heinously fat. He had short, messy grey hair, distant brown eyes and a double-chin, which was almost disguised beneath a disorganised stubble. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt, complete with all sorts of off-putting stains, and tight blue jeans. He stunk of sweat and, noticing Stan, grinned widely.  
  
"Welcome to 'Gerard's Newsstand'," he said, snorting like some kind of wild boar, "what can I get you?" Stan, a little off-put, scanned the counter.  
  
"Err… just give me the first chocolate bar you see…" he replied. The man quickly picked up a chocolate bar but, just as he was about to hand it to Stan, he sneezed into his hand, caking it in a thick layer of mucus. Stan recoiled.  
  
"That'll be 60 cents," the man said. Stan reached into his pocket, fishing out Cartman's dollar bill and handing it to the man. "Thank you," he said, grinning. "I'll just get you your change…" Stan shook his head, taking the chocolate bar and shoving it into his pocket.  
  
"That - that's okay," he said, quickly hurrying away from the shop. The man looked on, a little bemused, but then shrugged dismissively. Stan groaned, wiping his hand off on the right leg of his jeans. He just wanted to get what he'd come for, and then get back to the arcade to clear his head. He continued across the ground floor, weaving in and out of the market stalls, until he came to an elevator. He stepped onto it, scratching the back of his head anxiously. His nerves were getting the better of him again…  
  
A short while later, and Stan stepped through the door of the mall's pharmacy. The interior of the shop was like any other pharmacy in the whole of the country. The whole shop was bordered with shelves, monotonously stacked with multicoloured medicine bottles and packages. Several smaller shelves split the rest of the shop into aisles. Stan walked slowly and reluctantly down the central aisle and to the front desk, where the pharmacist turned to face him. He was a tall man, with rich ginger hair and squared spectacles. He was wearing what appeared to be a long white lab coat, along with a pair of black trousers.  
  
"Can I help you?" He asked. Stan again scratched the back of his head, his anxiety growing. The man looked on, a little bemused. "Can I help you?" He asked again.  
  
"Err… y-yeah…" Stan began, his voice shaking a little. This was something he hadn't really planned on doing any time soon, but it was now or never. "I - I n-need some… condoms." The pharmacist nodded, grinning.  
  
"Certainly," he replied, kneeling down behind the counter and began rummaging through a box of supplies. "Any particular preference?" Stan shook his head.  
  
"N-No," he said, "this - this is a first time for me, so just give me something basic…" The pharmacist nodded, and continued rummage through the box. After a little while, he fished out a small pack of condoms.  
  
"This is a packet of ten basic condoms," he said, placing it down on the counter. "Will it do?" Stan took a quick glance at the pack and, though he looking a little unsure, he nodded.  
  
"Y-Yeah, I guess so…" the pharmacist nodded, and then checked the price tag. He punched a few numbers into the cash register and, with the press of a final key, it chimed and sprung open.  
  
"That'll be five dollars, please," Stan reached into his pocket, fishing out a five dollar bill and handing it to the pharmacist. "So," the pharmacist began, "you said this is a first for you?" Stan nodded.  
  
"Uh… yeah," he replied, nodding. He took the packet of condoms, clutching them tightly in his hand. The pharmacist grinned, stuffing the five dollar bill into the tray of the cash register.  
  
"Well, good luck!" He said. "Hopefully, if things go well, I'll see you here again soon!" Stan nodded, and headed back down the aisle. He pushed the pharmacy door open, and quickly stepped out into the mall. At least that had gone reasonably well…  
  
"Well, if it isn't my favourite nephew, Stanley!" Stan, recognising the voice, immediately turned around. A man, who appeared to be in his mid-forties, was walking towards him, grinning. He was had pretty large, bulky figure; with very little brownish-grey hair, dark brown eyes, and an unshaved face. He was wearing an orange sweater beneath a forest green fishing jacket, pale brown trousers, and a pair of clunky hiking boots. A heavy-looking backpack was slung over his shoulder. He was, of course, Stan's Uncle Jimbo. Jimbo was, and had been for as long as Stan could remember, an avid hunter… make that an 'obsessive' hunter. He lived with his best friend (and Vietnam war buddy) Ned Gerblansky, who had one arm and no trachea.  
  
"I'm your only nephew, Uncle Jimbo!" Stan replied, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Yeah, I know that," Jimbo began, shrugging, "but that doesn't mean that you can't be my favourite nephew, now, does it?" Stan laughed.  
  
"Nah, I guess not," he replied, shaking his head. He paused for a few moments. "So," he began, "what are you doing here, Uncle Jimbo?" Jimbo shrugged.  
  
"I'm just picking up some last-minute supplies for my big hunting trip at the weekend," he replied, "you know what I'm like when it comes to planning!" He laughed a little. "Uh…" his gaze fell to Stan's hand, "they're not condoms, are they?"  
  
"N-No," Stan replied, gasping and shoving the pack into his pocket. He shook his head furiously. "It's just… err… cough medicine!" He paused, "it's for my mom - she had a really bad cough…" Jimbo shook his head.  
  
"Well, that's odd," he began, feigning ignorance, "because I spoke to Sharon a little while ago, and she seemed fine." Stan didn't reply for a few moments.  
  
"Uh… I… I gotta go," he said, beginning to hurriedly walk away from his uncle. "G-Good luck on your big hunting trip, Uncle Jimbo…" he paused. "I h-hope you manage to shoot something other than my d-dog, this time!"  
  
"I told you, I thought he was a deer!" Stan didn't reply as, by this time, he had disappeared into the crowd of shoppers. "I always knew that, with a fox of a girlfriend like his, he wouldn't be a virgin for long!" Jimbo said to himself, as he began walking away in the opposite direction. "He's just like his dad… except that Sharon wasn't exactly a fox…" he winced.  
  
----------  
  
'Arcadia', the new arcade recently built in the mall, was at the pinnacle of current technology. Standing in the middle of it was like standing in the middle of a circuit board - you were totally surrounded by electronics. From the pulsing lights and muffled sound of the traditional arcade game machine, to the spinning reels of the slot machine; everything was flashy and modern. Kyle, Cartman and Kenny were huddled around some sort of over-the-top shooting game, with Kyle himself at the joystick. He was bashing the buttons frantically, with beads of sweat running down his face.  
  
"Come on…" he said to himself, almost inaudible. Cartman grinned widely, as the words 'GAME OVER' flashed up on the screen in large, bold letters. "Aw, for fuck's sake!"  
  
"You suck, Kyle!" Cartman said, laughing. "Get out of the way - I'll show you how it's done!" He pushed his friend to one side, and leant down to slip a quarter into the machine. He hit the 'start' button and, as an awful rock tune began pumping out, the game began. Two or three second later, Cartman had lost, and 'GAME OVER' flashed up for a second time. "GODDAMN IT!" Kyle was grinning, pleased.  
  
"Yeah," he began, speaking sarcastically, "you're REALLY going to show me how it's done!" Cartman shot him an angry glance and, mumbling some untold profanity beneath his breath, stepped to one side. Kenny stepped in to fill the void.  
  
"You guys BOTH suck!" He announcing, also grinning widely. "I've played this game a hundred times before," he slipped a quarter into the machine, "watch a true master at work!" He hit the 'start' button, and the game began again. Just then, Stan walked up behind them.  
  
"Hey, guys." Kyle and Cartman turned around, but Kenny was far too busy, hammering away on the buttons of the arcade game to follow suite.  
  
"Hey, Stan," the two said, simultaneously.  
  
"Did you get my chocolate, dude?" Cartman asked, bobbing up and down in anticipation. Stan laughed, nodding, and then reached into his pocket. He pulled the 'chocolate bar' out and, handing it to Cartman, turned to watch Kenny. "Oh, very funny!" Cartman said, sarcastically.  
  
"Sorry, dude," Stan began, without looking, "but it's a long story. Y'see, the guy at the newsstand really stunk, and I wanted to get away from him as quick as I could - so I just asked for the first chocolate bar he saw." He paused. "Besides, you didn't ask for any particular kind…"  
  
"No," Cartman replied, sounding a little agitated, "but this isn't even a chocolate bar, you dumb ass!" A little confused, Stan turned to face Cartman. Much to his chagrin, he was holding the pack of condoms. "I don't know about you, but I don't fucking need them!" Stan laughed nervously. "The joke's over - just give me my Goddamn chocolate!"  
  
"Uh… sorry about that!" Stan said, snatching the pack of condoms from Cartman. He shoved them into his coat pocket, and began rummaging around for the chocolate bar. "It's… it's here somewhere…" he reached into the pocket of his jeans, grabbing the chocolate bar. He pulled it out, handing it to Cartman. Scratching the back of his head anxiously, Stan again turned to watch Kenny.  
  
A large crowd of people, including Tweek and Jimmy, was gathered around another arcade machine nearby. It appeared to be a miniature dance floor, complete with pulsing lights and awful music. It was, of course, a dance simulation. The user was required to dance in time with the music, and exactly as instructed by the machine. Good dancers were rewarded with tokens, which could be exchanged for 'fabulous' prizes at the front desk. Thanks to his dap-dancing know-how, Butters was an expert. Every time he played, he smashed the high scores and reaped the rewards. At that very time, he was doing just that. His gazed fixed firmly on the flashing screen, he danced like a pro. His feet shot about like bullets, barely even touching the 'dance floor'. Amidst the awful music, mechanical cries of 'new high score' could be heard every other second, accompanied by the chiming of a cash register. Everybody in the vicinity stood and gazed at Butters' fantastic footwork in awe. Eventually, the simulation ended, and Butters stepped down from the machine. He knelt down, collecting his tokens - there were a good number of them, to say the least!  
  
"W-Wow!" Jimmy exclaimed, a look of total disbelief slapped across his face, "t-that was absolutely in… that w-was absolutely incredible, B-Butters!" Butters shrugged.  
  
"Aw, it was n-nothing," he said, grinning. "I'm gonna go cash in for my fabulous prizes!" With that, he walked off towards toward the front desk. The crowd began to disperse, and Tweek stepped up onto the dance floor.  
  
"Y-Y-You gonna g-give it a try, Tweek?" Jimmy asked. Tweek nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he replied, "how hard can it be?" Tweek reached into his pocket, rummaging about and fishing out a quarter. He slipped it into the machine, and eagerly waited for the simulation to begin. However, nothing happened. Confused, Tweek assumed that his quarter had been rejected. He knelt down to take a look, but that was not the case. "What's wrong with this machine, man?!" He slipped in another quarter, and then another - still nothing. "Argh! It ate my quarter!" In his anger, Tweek gave the machine a hefty kick. Suddenly, an alarm began to sound. "Argh! Sweet Jesus!"  
  
"W-What's going on, fellas?" Butters asked, having just returned from the front desk with a literal bagful of prizes. He glanced at Tweek, and then at Jimmy, and then at the machine. He gulped and, without another thought, the trio darted off to where Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny were standing.  
  
"What the Hell did you do, Tweek?!" Kyle asked, wearing an expression of both anger and panic. Tweek was shaking violently, with beads of sweat running down his forehead. He wiped them away, running his sweaty fingers through his even sweatier hair.  
  
"I… I…" Tweek struggled to explain, his gaze darting about the arcade in panic. "That dance machine ate my quarter, and I… I kicked it!" Kyle slapped his forehead in frustration.  
  
"Excuse me, sirs," a duo of mall cops approached the boys, who turned to face them. The first mall cop, the one who has spoken, was the oldest of the two. He had a threateningly large frame; with patchy, brownish-grey hair, distant brown eyes, and a brownish-grey moustache. The second mall cop was much younger, though he himself appeared to be in his mid thirties. He had much fuller brown hair, and his brown eyes were much more alive. Both men were wearing a mall cop uniform; which consisted of a white shirt beneath a dark blue security guard jacket, and a pair of light blue trousers. They also wore black leather belts, with cans of pepper stray hooked onto them.  
  
"Y-Yes?" Butters asked, trying to sound as polite as was possible.  
  
"I have reason to believe that you triggered that alarm over there," the first mall cop began, pointing over at the dance simulation. The boys didn't reply. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sirs." Whilst Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Butters and Tweek grudgingly began to make for the exit, Cartman wasn't all too willing to comply.  
  
"Hey!" He exclaimed, "there's no way I'm leaving!" He pointed over at Tweek. "It was THAT asshole who set off the alarm - why can't you just kick him out?!" Emotionlessly, the first mall cop reached for his pepper spray can. He unhooked it from his belt, shook it, and then sprayed it into Cartman's face. "Ow! Fuck!"  
  
"Please leave, sir," the mall cop repeated, also speaking emotionlessly. Cartman, rubbing his watering eyes frantically, stumbled away with the other boys. The two mall cops, satisfied with their work, returned to their posts. The boys trudged to the exit and, unwillingly, stepped out into the mall.  
  
"Nice going, you dickhead!" Kyle snapped, looking over at Tweek, who was still shaking violently. "Thanks to you, we've been kicked outta the mall! Why the Hell did you have to go and kick that machine?! That's something I'd expect from Cartman, but not from you!" Tweek shook his head.  
  
"Look, I… I'm sorry, you guys!" He replied, his voice shaking a little. Kyle shook his head.  
  
"That's just great, Tweek," he replied, sarcastically, "a whole lot of use that is to us now!" He paused for a few seconds, and then sighed. "C'mon, let's just go get something to eat…" with that, the boys headed off in the direction of the Happy Burger - the mall's number one fast food restaurant.  
  
----------  
  
Happy Burger was just like another other fast food restaurant. It was squeaky clean, with seemingly permanent 'wet floor' warning signs, and had flashy, modern architecture. Aside from the toilet, it consisted of one main room. It was spacious (though there was a sickly stuffiness), and was bordered by chairs, tables, and booths. Directly adjacent to the main entrance, which the boys had just stepped through, was the counter. A long queue, just like ever-present lunch line in the cafeteria, meandered between the entrance and the counter. Kyle took one glimpse at it and, then turned to face the others.  
  
"There's no way I'm waiting in THAT line!" He exclaimed, shaking his head. He thought for a few moments. "Tweek," he began, grabbing the attention of his jittery friend. "Seeing as YOU got us kicked out of the arcade, YOU can wait in line!" Kyle handed Tweek a small sheet of scrap paper, which had the boy's ordered scrawled onto it in thinning biro. Tweek took a glimpse at the line and, reluctantly, joined the back of it. The others sat down at one of the larger tables, near to the window. Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny were sitting with their backs to the window; and Butters and Jimmy were sitting facing the window.  
  
"I can't believe that Goddamn twitching douche bag, Tweek, got us kicked out of the fucking arcade!" Cartman exclaimed, still rubbing his watering eyes. "I swear, if I could see him right now, I'd kick him in the nuts!" Stan shook his head.  
  
"Just forget about it, Cartman!" He said. "I'm sure that you would've done the same thing, if the machine had eaten your quarter…" he paused, "kick it, that is". Cartman thought for a moment, and then shook his head furiously.  
  
"But that doesn't matter, you stupid hippy!" He argued, raising his voice a little. "And do you know why it doesn't matter?" He paused for a few moments. "Because I didn't do anything!" He raised his voice a little more. "But I bet that if I had gotten us kick out, you and Kyle wouldn't let me hear the end of it, would you?!"  
  
"I said, 'just forget about it, Cartman'!" Stan replied, raising his own voice momentarily. "For God's sake; you mightn't have gotten us kicked outta the arcade but, with the way you're behaving, you'd think you were trying to get us kicked outta here!" Cartman mumbled something unspeakable beneath his breath.  
  
Jimmy, sitting opposite Stan and Cartman, was staring blankly out of the restaurant window. It felt so unreal to be back. When he and his family had left for Denver, more than four years ago, he never thought he'd see his friends again… let alone South Park. But, now, they were back together again and, just like they'd said, nothing had changed. Stan was still a 'hippy', Kyle was still a Jew, Cartman was still a fat ass, and Butters and Tweek were still, well, Butters and Tweek. Kenny was the only one to have changed considerably. But, with all of the pressure heaped on him by his parents, the only thing he could do was mature… and fast. Jimmy was really looking forward to Stan's party - looking forward to catching up with everyone else. He snapped out of his thoughts, however, as Wendy and Bebe passed by the window of the restaurant. They didn't look in; they simply stood outside and talked. Jimmy, having not seen the two for so long, didn't recognise them. He was almost mesmerised by their beauty, and was quick to draw his friends' attentions to them…  
  
"O-Oh my God, you guys," he began, not looking away from the two girls. "C-Check those two g-girls out; they're h-ho… t-they're h-ho… they're h-hot!" Stan shook his head.  
  
"Sorry," he began, not lifting his gaze up from the table, "but I DO have a girlfriend, and I owe it to her NOT to be checking out other girls." He paused for a few moments. "Besides, with Wendy as my girlfriend, I doubt there's another girl out there who I'd fall for… or even be impressed by!"  
  
"I'm s-serious, S-S-Stan," Jimmy continued, shaking his head a little. He still hadn't looked away from Wendy and Bebe. "These two are r-really, really h-hot! H-Here…" he reached into his pocket, taking out a ten dollar bill. "I'll b-bet you my t-ten d-do… I'll bet you my t-ten d-doll… my ten dollars that, after l-looking at these t-two, you won't think W-W-Wendy's so hot anymore."  
  
Instantly roused from his semi-slumber by the mention of money, Cartman turned around and glanced out of the window. As soon as he saw Wendy and Bebe, he grinned widely. He turned around again, but decided against telling Jimmy who the two girls were - he wanted Stan to realise this, and then get pissed off with him for checking out his girlfriend. Stan shrugged.  
  
"Okay, okay!" He said, nodding, "I could do with another ten dollars." He paused for a few moments. "Besides, everybody knows that Wendy's the most beautiful girl in South Park!" Just as Cartman had, Stan turned and looked out of the window. And, just as Cartman had, he saw that the two girls were in fact Wendy and Bebe. He turned back to face Jimmy, looking a little pissed off. "Jimmy, you asshole!" He exclaimed, "that girl IS Wendy!" All of a sudden, Jimmy was looking a little uneasy. "I should kick your ass for checking out my girlfriend but, seeing as you obviously didn't recognise her, I'll let you off!" Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
"Gee, I'm s-sorry about that, S-Stan," he said, "I d-didn't know that s-she was W-We… I didn't know t-that s-she was W-Wendy." Stan nodded, and Jimmy paused for a few moments. "B-But I hope you d-don't m-mind me saying, that I t-think you're the luckiest guy in South P-P-P-Park!" Stan rolled his eyes.  
  
"I AM the luckiest guy in South Park," he began, "but YOU'RE only saying because Wendy's hot! Wendy has an amazing personality too, y'know!" Sighing, Stan looked over at Tweek. His twitching friend was already at the front of the queue, and was being served at that moment. "Uh… I think Tweek's gonna need a bit more money to pay for the for the food, you guys…" Kyle, Cartman, Kenny, Butters and Jimmy all began rummaging through their pockets. They each gave a few dollars to Stan, who headed over to Tweek with the money.  
  
"W-Wow… I had no idea t-that s-she was W-W-Wendy…" Jimmy began, again looking out of the window at Wendy and Bebe. Kyle rolled his eyes. "S-She's really h-hot… and t-that other g-girl isn't too b-bad, either… w-who's she?" Kyle turned and looked out of the window. "T-That's B-B-Bebe, right?" Kyle nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he replied, turning to face Jimmy. "I must admit, she is a really, really nice girl," he sighed. "I've never told anyone this, but I've always had a HUGE crush on her… ever since we were kids." Kyle turned and looked out of the window. "That asshole, Clyde, doesn't even treat her right… she deserves better than him." He looked out of the window again, but saw that neither Wendy nor Bebe were outside. Just then, the two girls stepped into the restaurant. Bebe joined the queue and Wendy, noticing Stan, walked over to greet him.  
  
"Hey, Stan," she said, smiling widely.  
  
"Hey, Wendy," Stan replied, also smiling. He leaned in and kissed her. "I… err… I saw you outside a few minutes ago… what're doing here?" Wendy thought for a few moments, and then shrugged.  
  
"Um… I've had a few things on my mind, and I… I needed to clear my head," she began, "I'm not doing any shopping or anything, though…" she trailed off, her gaze travelling over to where Kyle, Cartman, Kenny, Butters and Jimmy were sitting. "Oh my God!" She exclaimed, spotting Jimmy, "is that Jimmy Valmer?!" Stan nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he replied. "He and his family ran into some financial trouble in Denver, and they had to move back to South Park." He paused, "I think they arrived in town last night." He paused for a few moments. "I invited him along to the party, so that he could catch up with everyone else…" With the mere mention of the party Stan and Wendy, staring into each other's faces, fell into uncomfortable silence. "L-Let's not talk about the party… yet…"  
  
==========  
  
Closing A/N  
  
First of all, can I apologise for being so behind schedule (one-hundred and seventy hours, to be reasonably precise). I hope that this chapter has been worth the wait (My only concern is that the ending is a bit weak). I'll be really busy over the next few weeks, so it could be a while before I begin work on chapter seven (three weeks minimum). As usual, don't forget to review!  
  
Until next time (whenever that 'next time' may be)… 


End file.
